


Between the Lines

by JhanaMay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Dean, Alternate Universe, DeanCasBigBang2016, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Environmental Activist Castiel, M/M, Minor Castiel/Original Male Character(s), Minor Dean Winchester/Cole Trenton, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8196619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: Environmental rights activist Castiel Novak may not have grown up on the Plains, but he has thrown himself into protecting and conserving South Dakota’s natural treasures as if he was a native. When Dean Winchester, Hollywood’s modern day John Wayne, comes to South Dakota to film his next movie, Cas is more focused on preventing the environmental damage Dean’s movies cause than hoping for a chance to meet him. After Cas makes some negative comments on social media about the actor’s authenticity as a cowboy, he is invited to spend a week alone with the star, roughing it in the wilderness. Cas sets out to prove exactly how fake Dean Winchester really is, but he isn’t expecting to find out that Dean is a troubled man running from a past that is just as difficult as his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Another year, another DCBB. I almost thought I wasn't going to make it this year, but everything finally came together at the last minute and I'm really happy with it. 
> 
> Big thanks to Lucie, Cat, and Christine for all their help! This story would be a lot less readable and have a lot more plot holes if it wasn't for them. 
> 
> Also, please go check out [Sketchydean](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/151309790211/this-year-for-the-dcbb-i-had-the-pleasure-to) who made all the wonderful artwork. It was a pleasure!
> 
> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/betweenthelines2%201_zps2yxiakaq.jpg.html)  
> 

A fine sheen of sweat covers Cas’ entire body, making his khaki shorts and soft cotton t-shirt stick to his skin. He ignores the discomfort and wraps his gloved hands around the stubborn branch more firmly. The tangle of brush blocks one of the most popular trails on Farm Island, but it’s no worse than a dozen other snarls they’ve cleared today. He braces his foot against a stump and pulls, finally feeling the branch come loose enough that he can drag it off the path.

Cas drops the limb onto a pile that will be picked up by volunteers in the Kubota to be processed into firewood for the campground, then lets his gaze sweep up the trail to where Hannah and Gabe are bickering over a downed tree that is too big to pull to the side. How those two live together without daily domestic violence calls is anyone’s guess.

“Luc has the chainsaw,” he calls, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the other volunteers. There is a good enough turn out for the spring clean-up day at the park that they’ve been able to clear almost three miles of trails in just a few hours. Thankfully, the winter was a mild one, so there isn’t as much work to do as in past years.

Gabe pushes his shaggy brown hair behind one ear and waves a hand in Cas’ general direction, but Cas isn’t sure what the complicated gesture is supposed to mean. It’s possible that Gabe could be thanking him for his help or telling him to fuck off, not that Cas would be overly concerned with either response.

A rustling sound off to his right draws Cas’ attention away from the shenanigans going on further up the trail. When he turns, Will smiles sheepishly and offers him a bottle of water, drops condensing on the outside. “One of these days I’m going to actually be able to sneak up on you,” Will jokes, twisting the cap off his own bottle and taking a long drink. His dark hair flops messily over the sweat-stained bandana that holds it back from his face.

“Keep trying, city boy,” Cas chuckles and drains half the bottle in one go. Spring temperatures in South Dakota may only make it into the high sixties, but the physical labor has left them all worn out. He glances down at his watch and sees that it will soon be time to pack all their tools up and head back to the maintenance shed at the recreation area on the mainland.

Will takes Cas’ bottle back and shoves them both into the rucksack on his shoulder. “Andy took some of the volunteers back in the Kubota,” he adds. “He said he’ll make a few more trips, but I wasn’t sure if you want to hike back or jump on one of the UTVs.”

Cas looks around. Even carrying three or four volunteers each trip, it will take Andy another half dozen trips to collect everyone and get them back to the staging area. “Let’s see if we can get the others to walk back. That’ll be one less trip worth of gas that he’ll have to use.” It’s not that the two miles back to the parking lot will cost the management team a huge amount of gas, but every little bit helps when they’re trying to stretch government funding.

By the time they collect Hannah, Gabe, and Luc, Andy has returned and another group of volunteers is climbing onto the utility vehicle. “We could just wait and get a ride,” Luc grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and falling into step on the opposite side of Cas from Will.

“If we start walking, we’ll be back before Andy gets us anyway,” Cas responds amiably. Will’s hand brushes the back of his while they walk and it’s a comfortable kind of closeness.

Luc sighs theatrically. “Not if we don’t wait until last as usual, Gandhi.”

Will shakes his head with a chuckle. “I’m not sure what the hell Gandhi has to do with this, but it’s not like the walk will hurt you. Aren’t you running in the Deadwood marathon next month?”

“And I already got my run in this morning. I don’t need the miles today,” Luc grouses, rolling his eyes at Will behind Cas’ head.

Cas ignores their bickering and looks back at where Hannah and Gabe are walking a few yards behind them. Most people seem to think that the two of them are a couple, since they live together and fight like they’ve been married for thirty years, but Cas can’t imagine any two people less suited for a relationship. Gabe enjoys sex but has no interest in falling in love, while Hannah says that she would be happy to never have sex again. She insists that she’s happy with Gabe’s companionship, even though three or four nights out of the week, that companionship means Gabe sleeping in someone else’s bed. To each their own, Cas’ grandmother used to say.

“We should grab some drinks at the Longbranch,” Will suggests. Cas isn’t sure where the argument with Luc was left, but the other man tilts his head in agreement.

“Showers first,” Luc announces, then adds with a suggestive wink, “You’re welcome to come by and use my shower, Castiel.”

“If the shower is broken at Will’s place, I’ll be sure to take you up on that,” Cas responds, rolling his eyes. He pretends he doesn’t see Will smirk at Luc behind his back. Better not to encourage him.

It isn’t like Cas planned to start having sex with his best friend. He and Will have known each other since their Peace Corps days, and one day, after too many beers, a dry-spell like he hadn’t seen since the Kyrgyz Republic, and his usual rash decision making, their friendship had changed from strictly platonic to occasionally-get-naked-together. Things have been comfortably casual for the last four years, but Cas can’t shake the feeling that Will has started to stake a claim that Cas isn’t sure he’s completely on board with. Not that he’s interested in getting dirty with Luc, since Luc is an asshole most of the time, but it’s nice to know he at least has options.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose to fend off an oncoming headache. Better to put that line of thought on the back burner for now. It’s certainly not worth drama that would interfere with beer and wings at the group’s favorite bar.

They split up in the parking lot and Cas slides behind the wheel of his old pick-up truck. He’s been to the modest two-story house on the edge of Hilger’s Gulch enough times over the years that he could drive there blindfolded, but he follows Will’s little Subaru to the highway into downtown Pierre anyway. Will lives closer to the Longbranch than the rest, so they’ll probably beat the others to the bar without even rushing.

Two quick showers, because no matter how close they are Cas draws the line at showering together, and he slips into borrowed clothes while Will gets dressed in the bedroom. Will’s jeans are just a hair too big for Cas’ frame, but the LSU sweatshirt he handed Cas with a little smirk covers the way they hang off his hips. With a roll of his eyes, Cas tries to imagine what his friends at Texas A&M would say if they could see him wearing the rival team’s logo. While neither he nor Will have ever been big football fans, they both get a kick out of fraternizing with the enemy.

As expected, he and Will are halfway through their first drinks when Hannah and Gabe stroll in. They order a second round, a pizza, and wings for the group and the food arrives just moments before Luc joins them. He squeezes in next to Cas, sitting close enough that his shoulder brushes Cas’ every time he moves, and ignores Will giving him dirty looks from across the table. Cas takes another drink of his beer and tunes them out. Despite his constant flirting, Cas is pretty sure that Luc isn’t even really interested in him. More likely, he just enjoys screwing with Will.

They’re halfway through their second pizza when Luc leans back in his chair, his hand brushing against Cas’ thigh before he raises his arms to weave his fingers together behind his head. “Did Andy tell you what’s going on with Oahe next week?”

Cas shrugs. “I got a text from Tessa the other day. A group of them are heading out to Rapid City for another hearing on the uranium mining, but I’ve got a lecture at CCU that day.” He’s still surprised sometimes that Capital University Center actually pays him to give lectures on sustainability, land management, and environmental issues, but it covers the bills when his crops and his freelance writing don’t, so he’s not complaining. Yet another thing he never imagined doing with his A&M Business degree.

The smile that creeps across Luc’s face suggests that it’s nothing so mundane, vividly reminding Cas that he met Luc for the first time inside a jail cell. While Cas prefers to avoid the arrest part of civil disobedience, Luc seems to go looking for it. “They’re bringing in equipment for the Keystone XL Tuesday night, so Jody’s group are heading up to get in their way.”

“Shit, Luc,” Cas retorts with a sigh. “I don’t want to see the pipeline go through any more than anyone else does, but that only leaves two days before my next lecture to post bail. They’re not planning on busting anything up, are they? The last time we went out with Jody and her people, there was more property damage than I appreciated.” Cas has always thought that civil disobedience requires civility, a quality that some people in the environmentalist movement are lacking.

“She said that was some college kids Ash invited along. Word is she booted them and gave Ash a stern talking to, but you know how well that usually sticks.”

“Which is not at all,” Will scoffs contemptuously. Cas is sure that he’s still sore about almost losing his job last year after one of Ash’s stupid stunts.

Hannah leans in and snags another piece of pizza before adding, “Gabe and I were going to head up with them. I’m off at the library Wednesday and Thursday, so if things go sideways, it’s no big deal.”

Gabe nods in agreement before polishing off his third beer. “I’m clear all week until trial prep down at Crow Creek on Friday. Jake is nervous, but we’ve got his defense in the bag. Worst case if I don’t make it back, Neil can cover the prep.” Between his hair and the beard he’s growing out, Gabe may look like a hippie, but he’s one of the best defense lawyers in the state. While he’s more than made a name for himself, his family would probably be happier if he spent more time taking high-profile, well-paying clients and less defending pro-bono and reduced-rate Native cases on the reservations. Sticking it to his parents is just one of the fringe benefits of what Gabe does, but Cas figures he’ll probably be just as happy with the basket of preserves Jake Cook’s mother promised him if he gets the theft charges against her son thrown out.

Cas turns to Will with a raised brow.

“Oh no, don’t look at me. I’ve got work at the bank all week and Turner will have my head if miss any time. I still owe him for covering the unauthorized time off after that livestock fiasco up in Strool.”

Luc chuckles. “Nobody expected Hawkins to have a tranq gun.”

“Tell that to the spot on my ass that still hasn’t regained feeling,” Will snarks back. There’s laughter around the table and Cas joins in, but at the time he’d been scared that Will was actually hurt.

Luc makes a lewd gesture at Will, then turns to rest his hand on Cas’ knee. Cas doesn’t even look at him as he brushes it off, but Luc just laughs. “So everyone but Captain Numb Ass here is in?” he asks.

“Fine,” Cas relents with a sigh, “but you’re driving. The last time I drove my truck to a pipeline rally it got keyed.”

Gabe laughs this time. “How could you tell? That thing’s a piece of shit.”

Cas flips him off and transfers a few more wings to his plate before taking another drink of his beer. Since he still needs to drive home to Chantier Creek tonight, three is his limit.

“I can definitely give you a ride anytime, Castiel,” Luc responds with a leer.

“Maybe I’ll just ride with Hannah and Gabe.”

Luc puts on a fake pout and crosses his heart with one finger. “Hands to myself, I promise.”

That isn’t even worth commenting on, so Cas just stuffs the last of his pizza crust into his mouth and lets the conversation shift from other environmental and political issues they support to plans for a group get-together when Hannah’s sister visits in a month. They’re planning touristy places to take her when Luc looks past Cas and gives a low whistle. “He can rustle my cattle any day,” he says with a dirty chuckle.

Cas turns to look at the TV mounted above the bar behind him. The theme music for Entertainment Tonight is barely audible over the general din of the bar, but Cas doesn’t need the volume to recognize the actor being interviewed. Dean Winchester, star of a string of modern-day westerns that have led to him being called a cross between Clint Eastwood and James Garner. He’s a Robin Hood for the modern west; a cowboy that fights for the little people against ruthless corporations.

“He doesn’t rustle cattle, you know,” Hannah responds seriously. “He’s the one who captures the rustlers.”

Luc rolls his eyes. “It’s a euphemism, Mary Poppins. You know, he’s welcome to juggle my—”

“We get it, Luc,” Will cuts him off with a glare.

“He’s a douchebag anyway,” Cas announces, turning his back on the TV.

Luc turns to him with a scandalized expression. “What the hell are you talking about? Have you seen the ass on that guy?”

“Cas isn’t swayed by a pretty face,” Hannah cuts in with a grin.

“Pretty face? I said ass.” Luc looks back up at the screen where Winchester’s character, Ty Carter, is racing across a prairie on the back of his beloved palomino quarter horse, Impala.

Hannah sticks out her tongue at him. “A pretty ass then, whatever. Cas doesn't approve of his politics.”

“Politics? For fuck's sake, Castiel. Ten dollars gets you two hours of ogling his thighs in those jeans. Sounds like a good investment to me.” Luc smacks his lips obscenely and looks back up at the screen.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Three buffalo were killed over in Genesee, Colorado last year after a helicopter from his movie set spooked the herd, and that doesn’t even take into account the damage that was done to the grasslands there. He likes to put on a big act like he represents the West, but he’s just a poser like the rest of them. Another rhinestone cowboy that would cry if he really had to rough it like he does in his movies. The way he’s got everyone eating out of his hand is disgusting.”

When Cas pauses to take a breath, Gabe cuts in. “Great job, Luc. Way to get him riled up. Last time he went off about Winchester, he ranted for twenty minutes. I wanted to borrow one of Ty Carter’s snazzy silver pistols and shoot myself.”

“Fuck you, Gabe,” Cas bites out. He turns to look over his shoulder at the screen again, where Ty Carter is sweeping a pretty blond into a searing on-screen kiss. What an asshole.

“The guy must have some stones to be an openly gay actor in Hollywood, though,” Will offers. “It’s not like he’d be blackballed these days, but I doubt the studio was looking for a queer actor to play their golden boy. You gotta give him that.”

“Openly gay?” Cas snipes back. “It’s not like he had a choice after those photos of him and the guy he was sleeping with were leaked from the set of his last movie. He didn’t choose to come out to make some sort of stand. He preys on Native culture and exploits the Plains to make his movies and doesn’t care about the environmental impact, and then uses his sexuality as a PR stunt. He turns my stomach.”

Luc snickers. “Holy shit, Cas. You really have a hate-on for this guy. Jeanine in accounting told me the other day his next movie is going to start filming here in a couple months. Guess you won’t be set stalking.”

“Here? As in South Dakota?” Cas asks, eyes narrowing.

“Up in Aberdeen, according to some gossip blog she follows,” Luc explains, then adds with a smirk, “Why? Are you gonna go protest the set.”

Cas considers that. While Cas doesn’t usually pay much attention to the entertainment industry, Winchester just rubs him the wrong way. It’s just as good a use of his time as blocking the Canadian pipeline and promoting responsible livestock management. “Maybe we should,” he allows. “His movies are trite and ridiculous, and they certainly aren’t good for South Dakota’s environment.”

“You’re nuts,” Will responds, pushing his chair back from the table. “I’m going to the bathroom and by the time I come back, we better be done talking about Dean Winchester.”

Whether anyone actually took his demand seriously or not, the conversation has shifted to other topics by the time Will returns. Cas switches to water after his third beer and they last another hour before Hannah starts yawning. “What?” she snaps when they all look at her. “I was up at six this morning to help with the book sale at the library.”

One by one, the rest of the group caves until just Luc is holding out. “You guys are a bunch of pussies,” he declares. “Saturday night and you’re heading out by ten o’clock? Well, fuck that. I’m gonna head over the Spur and see if I can rustle up some tail.”

“You do that,” Will says, clapping one hand on Luc’s shoulder. “Keeping it classy as usual.”

Luc flips him off but follows them to the parking lot, where they split up to separate cars. Once everyone else has said their goodbyes and left, Will lingers at Cas’ truck, one hand on the open door to keep Cas from closing it. “If you don’t want to make the drive back tonight, you can always crash at my place,” he says, leaning in slightly. To anyone else, the suggestion would sound like an innocent offer between friends, one that had been made by both of them a hundred times before their relationship changed.

But Cas knows Will better than anyone and that glint in his eye means that if Cas follows him back to his house instead of getting on the highway to cross the river toward home, Cas won’t be sleeping on the couch tonight. He glances down at his watch and considers his options. It’s been almost a month since they’ve done anything and Cas hasn’t been with anyone else in the meantime. He isn’t exactly being loyal to Will since they’ve never talked about this being anything more than just two friends scratching an itch, but it hasn’t been worth the effort to seek out someone else when he knows that he has an open invitation any time he wants.

“I can text Sheppard to run over and check on the animals,” he says slowly, feeling it out. “He owes me a favor from helping him round up those damn peahens two weeks ago.” The more he thinks about it, the better the idea sounds. After all these years, Will knows exactly how to push his buttons and he’s already getting hard thinking about it.

With a slow, seductive smile, Will leans in to brush a light kiss on Cas’ neck, his tongue darting out to tease the hollow just below Cas’ ear. “Race you home,” he murmurs softly then turns to walk to his car, confident that Cas will follow.


	2. Chapter 2

The morsel of food makes a graceful arc before Ares jumps up and snatches it out of the air. Dean chuckles and throws another treat between the dogs. This time, Atlas manages to get to the prize before his brother. Although Ares has a solid twenty pounds on the smaller dog, Atlas can hold his own when he needs to. Dean had initially balked at taking the Rottweiler puppies, but he’s glad now that he let his younger brother talk him into it. Sam had been the one who always wanted a dog when they were kids, but he has to admit that rattling around in the big house by himself isn’t as bad with the constant company.

Dean kicks his feet up on the coffee table and watches as the dogs wrestle over a toy. According to the reminder postcard Sam’s wife had stuck up on the fridge during their last visit, they’re due for their two-year check-ups soon. Although she and Sam run the veterinarian clinic up in Kadoka together, Eileen is definitely the pushier of the two. Maybe this year he’ll actually be around for their appointment rather than having to leave it for Cole or Jenner to do. Filming so close to home will be nice, but he has to make it through the upcoming press tour first. It seems crazy that they’re already in pre-production for the next movie when the last one hasn’t even made it to theaters yet. The Ty Carter-machine just keeps on rolling, whether Dean is on board or not.

As if his thoughts conjured her, his cell phone lights up with a call from his publicist. He thinks about letting it go to voicemail, but he knows that Charlie is a lot scarier when she thinks he’s avoiding her. Better to just face the music.

“I gave at the office,” he says, bringing the phone up to his ear after tapping the icon under Charlie’s name.

“That would be a lot more believable if you ever came into the office, you know?”

“I pay you so I don’t have to come into the office.” Dean lets a smile color his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t forget it.” There’s the sound of rustling papers in the background and then Charlie sighs. “It’s that time again.”

Dean mimics her sigh. “I thought I had another two months? Press tour, premiere, then things gear up in Aberdeen. That’s what the calendar says.”

“Six weeks, Dean. We’ve got a solid two weeks of appearances scheduled before the red carpet in L.A in two months. You don’t report to Aberdeen until a week after the second premiere in New York.”

Fuck. Dean hates press tours almost as much as he detests paparazzi. It isn’t that he minds talking about the movies. In fact, he absolutely loves talking about the movies. It’s the constant prying questions about his personal life that wear on him. He throws himself back against the couch cushions and closes his eyes against an encroaching headache. “I really fucking hate these things. You know that, right?”

“I know you do, babe,” she responds with compassion, “but promotion is just as important as acting for your career. You need to entice people to want to come see your movie.”

“I don’t mind promoting the movies, Char,” Dean insists, absently rubbing his fingers against his temple. “I could talk about Ty Carter all day long. What gets to me is the way they turn into vultures when it comes to any little tidbit I let drop about Dean Winchester.”

Charlie makes a soft tutting sound. “Have you ever thought that maybe if you’d open up a little and give the fans a bit more of a taste of your personal life, they wouldn’t be so hell-bent on prying it out of you.”

Dean imagines what it would be like if the media or the fans found out what kind of horrors his history really held. It would drag back up everything he’s fought this entire time to box up. Those things belonged to a different person and there is no way he’s letting them color the life he’s made for himself. “When I signed on, you agreed that my private life would stay as private as I wanted. I don’t want my personal business splashed across the press, Char,” he says wearily, pressing the heel of one hand into his eye socket to try to lessen the throbbing pain. “I know that shit like what happened with Aaron happens and I’m not holding that against you, but I’m not talking about me. They wanna know about Ty Carter, fine, but Dean Winchester is off limits.”

There’s a short pause, then a sigh. “I get that and no matter what you think, I really am sorry about Aaron,” she says sincerely. “No one knew that guy was a reporter or he would have never been allowed on set. I know that’s not how anyone would choose to come out.” There’s another pause as if she’s choosing her next words carefully. “I’m just saying that it wouldn’t hurt to open up a little about your background. I don’t mean talking about your childhood, but just telling them that you grew up on a ranch, that you can really do everything in real life that Ty Carter does in the movies, would be enough to get them to lay off you. Pick a social media platform and I’ll help you create a presence. If you give the press a little and you control what you want them to see, it will keep the fans satisfied and you won’t be at the mercy of the paparazzi trying to score the next big Dean Winchester story.”

Dean’s head is screaming now, an ache that starts behind his eyes and radiates out to his temples, making his stomach churn with nausea. He closes his eyes against the lights in the room, hoping to fend off the migraine for a few more minutes. Both dogs must sense his distress because they curl up at his feet and Atlas presses his head to Dean’s calf with a small whine. “Acting is an escape for me, Charlie,” he whispers, his own voice too loud, causing pain to sing through his head. “I slip into Ty Carter’s skin and become someone else so that I don’t have to think about the shit show of my life. I can’t do that if my personal shit is dragged out into the public eye. Give them a little and they won’t stop pulling until they have the whole sordid story. I can’t relive that. It ain’t fair to me, or to Sammy and Eileen. He’d get dragged through the mud right along with me and she sure as hell didn’t sign up for that when she married his sorry ass.”

Charlie lets out a long breath that reverberates through Dean’s head like a tornado-force wind. “I’m sorry, Dean,” she says softly, her voice raw. “You’re right. I know you have a good reason for keeping things to yourself and I never meant to pressure you into sharing more than you want. I’ll vet the questions and make sure they’re focusing on the movies as best I can.”

“Thanks, Char. I don’t think I’d have made it this far without you. It means a lot to know you’ve got my back.”

“You’re not just a client, Dean, and friends look out for each other,” she says and Dean can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll email you the itinerary for the press tour. Look it over and let me know what you think.”

“Will do, Char. Thanks.” Dean ends the call and throws the phone onto the couch next to him, letting his head fall back against the cushion and threading his hands into his hair. He lets it grow out between movies, so there’s enough length for him to grip the strands and pull. He doesn’t know whether the pressure really makes his head feel better, or if the slight sting in his scalp is just a convenient distraction, but it feels good enough that he does it a few more times.

When he finally opens his eyes a few minutes later, the aura around the lamp has faded, though his head still throbs weakly. He pushes up from the couch gingerly, but his stomach has settled. Not a full blown migraine then, or at least not yet. Although he’s been getting them for years, they’ve never been bad enough to get a prescription for anything, so he just heads into the kitchen to swallow a few over-the-counter pills with a glass of water.

Glancing up at the clock, Dean steps over to the stove to check the roast he put on earlier. The temperature on the meat thermometer shows that it should be done right around the time Sam and Eileen are supposed to arrive for dinner. The throbbing in his head slowly ebbing, he grabs a bottle of iced tea out of the fridge and heads outside.

The dogs dart across the yard as soon as Dean opens the front door. He steps out onto the wide veranda that wraps around the full length of the front of the house and takes a swallow of his tea as he watches them wrestle. The architect he worked with had argued about the aesthetics, but in the end, Dean’s money had won out. The house is exactly what he wanted. Although the style isn’t typical of a South Dakota ranch house, the stone and rough-hewn timbers that make up the front facade marry it to the land in a way that makes it seem like it belongs.

Atlas hits Ares from the side, sending the larger dog tumbling ass over teakettle and pulling a bark of laughter from Dean as he follows them down the porch steps. Pressing his advantage, Atlas races toward the barn, his brother hot on his tail. The property hasn’t been a working cattle ranch in over twenty years, but the barns and paddocks that dot the land are still standing. Since there aren’t many painful memories attached to those structures, he hadn’t bothered to have them torn down when he demolished the original farm house. It’s too bad he can’t wipe away the memories as easily as he’d cleared the rubble.

Across the yard, Cole is training a young colt in the paddock. The leggy palomino prances in circles around the compact cowboy, who is trying to settle a halter over his head. There’s something in the way Cole moves, the way he reaches for the colt with hands that promise both gentleness and command, that draws Dean in and makes him remember the first time he saw Cole. Just sixteen years old, new to town and reeling from having everything he’d always known stripped away from him in one terrible night, Dean had seen something in Cole that made him empathize with the little filly he’d been training at the time. When Cole laid his hand on her neck and whispered in her ear, Dean couldn’t look away. Not because he wanted to learn to train horses like that, but because he wanted to know what it felt like to have that hand on his own neck.

By then Dean was more than aware that he found men just as appealing as women, although he hadn’t yet found the courage to act on that knowledge. When Bobby, his father’s best friend and his and Sam’s new guardian, sent him out to the Trenton farm to ask for a job, Dean never imagined that he’d end up meeting his best friend and first lover. Cole, just shy of eighteen himself, taught Dean a lot more that summer than how to train horses.

Dean props one foot up on the fence and watches the other man work for a while, admiring his patient, easy moves. Within minutes, the colt gives in, his neck a graceful curve as he bows his head to Cole’s chest. Although Cole’s words aren’t audible from across the paddock, Dean can hear enough of the tone to know that the cadence is exactly the same one he uses to soothe Dean when he’s keyed up or on edge.

“He’s gonna be something else,” the cowboy calls, releasing the colt into the adjoining field and walking over to the fence where Dean stands. He takes the bottle of iced tea out of Dean’s hand and swallows half the contents.

“You were right,” Dean says, ignoring the baiting way Cole hands the bottle back with a grin. “I should have never turned him down when Crowley offered to sell him. I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you lookin’ out for me.”

Cole laughs and leans in to press his lips to Dean’s temple in a way that is much too sentimental for two grown men who occasionally fuck like they’re still teenagers. He puts his hand on Dean’s neck and squeezes the tense muscles there, and Dean leans into the pressure with a sigh. “You got another headache?” he asks, bringing his other hand up so that he’s kneading both sides.

“Fuck, I’m adding masseuse to your job description, get them to let me take you to set with me,” Dean says with a groan, feeling the tension bleed away.

Cole laughs. “And then who would watch this place for you?” The fate of the last guy who followed Dean to set hangs unspoken in the air between them.

“I’ll just pay Jenner more to live out here while I’m gone instead of just checking up on your sorry ass every couple of days,” Dean teases. He leans in for a kiss, just as the sound of tires on gravel distracts him.

Cole squeezes his shoulders once more, then lets his hands trail suggestively down Dean’s chest. “Go see your brother and his pretty wife and let me work. I’ll finish what I started tonight.”

Dean’s eyes follow the other man’s swagger to the far end of the paddock before he pulls his gaze away. Swallowing hard, he walks over to meet the respectable four-door sedan at the top of the drive. The passenger door opens first and Dean’s sister-in-law climbs out, her rich auburn hair glowing in the afternoon sun. She pulls the back door open and a golden blur shoots out, bowling Ares over again as their Golden Retriever, Monty, hits him full force in the side. Eileen lets out a bark of laughter just as Sam gets out of the car, immediately calling commands at the tumbling dogs.

“Jesus, leave them alone, Sam. They’re not hurtin’ anyone,” Dean calls over the din of growls and Sam shouting.

Eileen turns to Sam, her hands moving in a series of rapid gestures that Dean knows means that she’s telling Sam off too, even though he can’t see most of the signs with her back turned to him. Sam roll his eyes and relents, tugging his wife into a soft kiss before they both turn to walk toward the house. Dean smiles at the way she keeps her hand in his. He likes seeing his little brother happy.

“Have you decided to dump this moose and run away with me yet?” Dean says in greeting, lips quirking up into a smile. He makes sure that he’s facing Eileen when he talks so that she can read his lips. That had taken a little getting used to at first, but after almost four years, it has become second nature.

“Name the day and place,” she replies with a grin, the slightly rounded sound of her pronunciation the only indication that she didn’t hear the words as Dean spoke them.      

Before Sam brought Eileen to meet Dean the first time, back when they were just dating, he’d sat Dean down and explained that Eileen was born deaf. He explained that Eileen had been teaching him American Sign Language, but that she also read lips and could speak, though her voice had a slight slurring quality to it. Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to do anything to embarrass him in front of her, which was Dean’s first indication that this wasn’t just a fling to Sam. He really wanted Dean and this girl to get along.

That first night, Dean had been just as nervous as Sam was. He’d stumbled through the first few basic ASL signs Sam had taught him and reined in his usual sarcasm so that he wouldn’t offend the pretty veterinarian intern. The evening was stiff and awkward for the first forty-five minutes, until finally, halfway through dinner, Eileen had rolled her eyes and cracked a dirty joke in response to something Dean said. After a moment of shocked silence, Dean let out a snort of laughter and the tension was broken. Four years later, Eileen is just as much his sister as Sam is his brother.

“Sunday on the church steps,” he responds to the old joke before sweeping her into a tight hug. She laughs and buries her face in his neck for a moment before releasing him so that he can turn to hug Sam.

“Am I invited to the wedding?” Sam asks dryly, thumping Dean on the back. He quickly translates the words into sign language for his wife.

“Not if you’re going to be a pain in the ass about it,” she snarks backs.

Dean shakes his head affectionately. This is the life he’s protecting when he refuses to open himself up to the media. Sam and Eileen and the dogs and the peace and quiet under the big western sky. No matter how much he loves acting, they’re things he’ll never sacrifice for the opportunity. “Dinner’s just about ready if you guys wanna head inside,” he offers, stepping back so they can proceed him up the steps. He’s glad he took Sam’s suggestion to install the invisible fence last year, so they don’t have to wrangle the dogs into the house.

Sam looks across the yard to where Cole is standing with the bay colt, gently running a brush down his side. “Are you gonna invite your boyfriend in?” he asks with a grin.

Dean rolls his eyes and shoves his brother toward the porch. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he bites out, sparing a last glance at Cole before closing the door behind himself.

It’s another old joke that never seems to be as funny as Sam intends. Regardless of what Sam thinks, he and Cole have never quite gotten around to being a couple. As much as Dean loves Cole, he isn’t _in love_ with him and he can’t imagine their relationship ever being romantic. They might take a roll in the hay occasionally, but it’s never more than scratching an itch. Dean just prefers it that way.

Dinner is just as rowdy as usual, though the yelling has been replaced by a flurry of hands whenever the pace of the conversation gets to be too much for Eileen to follow by reading their lips. As much as Dean loves his house and the privacy that wealth affords him, what he really loves is being surrounded by his family. If he could convince Bobby and Ellen to give up their lives in Sioux Falls, he’d move them closer so that they could all be together more often. The look on Ellen’s face when he’d offered was enough to put an end to that discussion, though. Although neither she nor Bobby had ever complained about taking on two teenagers, Dean figures that they’d given up enough of their lives for him and Sam already. The last thing he wants is to guilt them into giving up their home too.

After dinner, Eileen and Sam help him clear the table and load the dishwasher, then he ushers them into the media room. With the giant rear projector television that takes up an entire wall of the room and a cluster of overstuffed recliners and couches, it’s Dean’s favorite room in the house after his bedroom. Since their tradition is to watch a movie after dinner, Sam fires up the TV and turns on the closed captioning while they start filling each other in on current events.

“Your barn could really use a cat,” Eileen says, giving Dean a plaintive look. She’s been texting him pictures of the litter of kittens that had been abandoned in front of their clinic for the last four days.

“I have two dogs, which is your fault, by the way, three horses, and two goats. I don’t think I need a cat.” He doesn’t mention that he had to shut off his phone last night to stop himself from offering to take all of them.

“She’s going to wear you down, dude,” Sam says, turning so that Eileen can see his mouth. “You might as well just give in.” Dean flips him off and he goes back to clicking through the channels.

“Wait!” Eileen calls, making Sam stop on a news broadcast showing a prairie with several large pieces of construction equipment scattered around. The camera pans out to show a pile of large tubes in the distance and Dean recognizes the footage from a previous news story he’d seen about the Trans-Canada oil pipeline proposed to cut through the South Dakota prairie. Over the last several years he has donated fairly large amounts of money to several environmental and indigenous activist groups that have been fighting the pipeline.

The shot transitions again and the little indicator at the bottom of the screen shows that the footage is live. There are dozens of people milling around, including several uniformed police officers who are unchaining a man and two women from the front of a backhoe in the background. The reporter is standing in the foreground with a guy in a plain black hoodie and ripped jeans. He runs one hand through his already tousled hair and looks up at the camera defiantly when the reporter gestures at it wordlessly. His eyes are the clearest blue Dean has ever seen.

“That’s Cas Novak,” Eileen says, turning to Sam. Sure enough, just seconds after she says it, the words _Castiel Novak - Environmental Activist_ appear at the bottom of the screen.

Sam frowns. “The guy you took that course on sustainable agriculture from up in Pierre last year?” She nods, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Dean can’t tear his eyes away from the television either, but he’s pretty sure it’s not for the same reason as his sister-in-law. Working in the entertainment industry, Dean has met more than a few really attractive people. After a while, it’s hard not to become jaded by it, almost as if you stop seeing a pretty face or a handsome jawline once you’ve seen a hundred of them. For whatever reason, though, Dean is drawn in by the guy on the screen. There’s something about the way he carries himself that is mesmerizing. In response to the reporter’s question, he launches into the history of the pipeline and why it is bad for the environment and the Natives of South Dakota. It’s all information Dean has heard before, and he’s too caught up in the man’s deep, husky voice to pay attention to the content anyway.

“Jesus, if this guy is going around getting himself arrested for chaining himself to a bulldozer, it’s a good thing you passed on going to that rally with him in the spring,” Sam says to his wife.

“It’s a backhoe,” Dean feels obliged to point out.

“What?” Sam whips his head around to glare at Dean.

Dean waves his hand at the screen. “That thing they were chained to. It’s a backhoe, not a bulldozer. See how it has the scoop on the—”

“It doesn’t matter, Dean,” Sam cuts him off, adding a muttered, “You’re such an asshole,” before turning back to the screen. Dean smirks at the back of his head.

The news reporter on the screen segues into the next question, the camera zooming in tighter on their faces, emphasizing the iridescent blue of the man’s eyes even more. “When you plan these kinds of protests, aren’t you afraid of getting arrested?”

Novak shrugs. “It’s a price I’m willing to pay to bring attention to things that matter. If I’m not willing to put myself on the line for what I know is right, then I have to suffer the consequences. The effects of this pipeline on native wildlife, groundwater, and indigenous populations will be catastrophic. We’re fooling ourselves if we think that those losses won’t also affect us.”

“You’re very passionate about this cause,” the reporter points out as if it wasn’t obvious in the man’s voice.

Novak looks directly into the camera and nods. “I’ve devoted my life to protecting this planet from anyone who wants to harm it, whether that’s big oil, unethical livestock management, or Hollywood hacks like Dean Winchester.”

The camera pans away from Novak and the reporter to show the crowd of activists and law enforcement in the background, but Dean isn’t really seeing the television anymore. His chest seizes for a moment before he forces himself to take a deep breath. “What the actual fuck?” he mutters. He’s never even heard of this guy before.

When he looks up, both Sam and Eileen are staring at him with wide eyes. “What did you do to him?” Sam asks, his eyes narrowing as he searches Dean’s face.

“How the hell would I know?” Dean barks. “Guy’s a whack job.” He snatches the remote out of Sam’s hand and turns off the TV.

“So you don’t know him?” Sam presses. “You didn’t, like, sleep with him or something?”

“Why the fuck would you think I slept with him? I never even heard of the guy before now.”

Sam shrugs. “He’s good looking. I thought maybe you screwed him over and this is his way of getting back at you.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I ever heard. I don’t even know the guy,” Dean repeats testily. “And for your information, I don’t screw people over. If you’ll remember, I was ready to settle down with Aaron when he screwed me over. So fuck you very much, Samuel.”

“Knock it off,” Eileen cuts in, raising her voice. Dean knows there’s no possible way she caught all that, as they were both only half facing her as they sniped at each other, but she would have been able to read the tone in their body language. “There was a story reblogged last week on one of the activism sites about the accident in Genesee while you were filming _Two to Go_. Maybe he saw it and so you were on his mind.”

Dean gives a petulant shrug and sticks his tongue out at Sam. “Maybe. Either way, I don’t give two shits about what some environmentalist wacko thinks of me or my movies. Let’s pop some popcorn and watch the new Bond movie.” He’s not going to let some nutcase ruin his night with his family.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas sets the bottles of fresh goat milk and the basket of eggs on the shelf in the refrigerator and closes the door. Since the Northridge Farmer’s Market isn’t for another three days, he has plenty of time to collect honey beforehand. He put up a few dozen bundles of fresh herbs to dry in the greenhouse last weekend, so he’ll just need to get up early on Saturday to put together some decorative bouquets. This early in the season, fresh flowers tend to sell pretty well.

His bank account is still flush this month, even after paying the fine from the pipeline adventure, so he isn’t too worried about making ends meet. Between the Market, the three classes he’s teaching at the community college each week, and the two magazine articles he sold last month, he even has a little extra to put away toward the new bearings he needs for the wind turbine. He doesn’t use a lot of electricity, but it would suck to go without it if the turbine goes down. It’s still overcast enough days out of the week this early in the season for the solar panels to be ineffective for keeping up with even the meager demand.

He pulls the tea ball out of his mug and empties it into the compost crock on the counter before mixing in some honey from his personal supply. Since he already finished his outside chores for the day, he’s planning to take his laptop out to the deck and work on the Living Green blog post that is due by Friday. Life moves a little slower than it did during his Peace Corps days, but it’s enough to keep him busy. Every now and then, he thinks that it would be nice to have someone to share it all with, but it hasn’t been worth the effort it would take to meet someone. He’s gotten really good at being alone.

As soon as he puts his laptop and tea on the table and settles into his favorite chair, Katie runs up on the porch on plops herself down at his feet, panting with soft puffs of breath against his ankles. He reaches down and ruffles the Border Collie’s fur and she pushes her head into his palm. She’s only been with him for three weeks and the bald patches around her neck are still visible. The scabs are healing nicely, though, so he makes a mental note to slather some more of the ointment them. Every time he pictures what she looked like when the rescue brought her in, mangy and half-starved after being chained to a fence for so long that the too-tight collar had actually grown into her skin, it makes a sick rage burn in his stomach. It’s a good thing the shelter wouldn’t give out the name of her previous owner because Cas isn’t sure he could have stopped himself from visiting the asshole who had done that to her.

With Katie a soft, warm weight against his leg and the blue skies above him, it doesn’t take long for Cas to get into the meat of the article. Writing about the benefits of composting is something he could practically do in his sleep. He’s sending the final draft to the editor when he hears the car pulling up the drive. Katie raises her head to sniff at the air, but she doesn’t move until Cas pushes back his chair to stand up. Her anxiety makes his heart hurt. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go see who it is.”

She sticks to his side as they round the side of the house, just in time to watch Hannah and Gabe get out of the car. “Cassaroni,” Gabe calls, slamming the door on the pretentious Lexus he drives. It’s the only concession he makes to a stereotypical lawyer image.

Cas sighs and ignores him. He used to get upset at all the ridiculous nicknames, but he’s learned over the years that it’s better to just ignore them. “What are you doing here?” he asks instead.

Gabe presses one hand to his chest like he’s wounded. “Jesus, Cassie, good to see you too. Anyone ever tell you that you are not a people person?”

“All the time.”

Hannah bites back a smile and hands him an envelope. “We grabbed your mail on the way up.”

Cas glances at the envelope as he takes it, carefully keeping himself from reacting to the return address. “Thanks,” he says stiffly, stuffing it into his back pocket and leading them around back to the deck before she can ask about it. If she wonders why he’s getting mail from MetraCorp, one of the largest pesticide manufacturing companies in the country, she doesn’t bring it up. She probably thinks it’s a cease-and-desist letter or something.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks once they’re settled on the porch. “I just mixed a new batch that I think you’ll like, Hannah. It’s less tart than the last stuff you tried.”

Hannah waves him away. “We were actually headed down to Farm Island for a hike and thought we’d stop to see if you wanted to go. Luc is going to meet us there after work, but he isn’t done until two-thirty.”

Cas looks at his watch and considers it. “I could do that. I’m meeting Will for dinner this evening, so I was headed into town anyway. Let me just grab some clothes to change into for dinner and I’ll meet you there.”

“You could ride down with us,” Gabe offers, absently fiddling with his phone.

“And then I’d be stuck at Will’s place,” Cas says, ignoring the pointed looks that pass between Hannah and Gabe at his protest. They’ve never really talked about what’s going on between him and Will, and Cas sure isn’t going to start now. “I’ll meet you there,” he repeats with finality.

It doesn’t take long for him to throw some clothes into a backpack and feed the animals before leaving, so Hannah and Gabe are still standing beside the car when Cas pulls into the parking lot at Farm Island. There’s a white news van parked in the corner and a young male reporter is interviewing a family next to what Cas assumes is their car. He gets out of the truck and locks the doors before walking over to Gabe and Hannah. “Let’s get going before he—”

“Oops,” Gabe says, looking past Cas, “too late.”

Cas glances over his shoulder and sees that the reporter and cameraman are heading straight for them. “Shit,” he swears softly, then pastes a smile on and turns to greet them.

It doesn’t take long for it to become clear that the reporter recognized them. He asks about the clean-up project happening on the Island after the last big storm and mentions one of the rallies they had all attended in the fall. Cas doesn’t remember meeting this kid before, but he talks to so many people that anything is possible. “You had quite a crowd for the protest against the Keystone pipeline last week,” the reporter says, pulling Cas’ attention back to the conversation.

“It was a good turnout,” Cas concedes. “It was important to us to draw attention to our concerns. A lot of people are against the pipeline going through, but it’s going to take constant vigilance to make sure our voices are heard by the people in charge of granting those permits.”

The reporter nods gamely. “You had some interesting things to say about other dangers to South Dakota’s environment, going so far as to name actor Dean Winchester as an enemy of conservation and protection efforts. With his next movie scheduled to start filming outside of Aberdeen in just two months, can you elaborate on why you consider him a threat?”

If the camera wasn’t right there in Cas’ face, he would roll his eyes. He knew that throw away comment about Winchester was going to come back to bite him in the ass, but he had been riding on the adrenaline high from the protest and couldn’t help himself. While Winchester irritates him, it's not like he actually spends a lot of time thinking about the actor. Oh well, he’s too far in now to back down. Cas’ unwillingness to cut his losses and let things go was always one of the qualities his father complained about the most, and Cas proves that he hasn’t changed when he says, “While a lot of movies are filmed in other countries, the beautiful wilderness lands we have right here in the American west have started to attract attention from Hollywood as a more convenient, less expensive way to capture those sweeping, majestic shots without traveling halfway around the world. Sure, the film crews and permit subsidies bring a lot of money into local economies, but no one is talking about the environmental impact that is left behind after they pack up and move on to their next location.”

“There were several incidents surrounding the filming of Winchester’s last movie, _Two to Go_ , which is set to open in just a few weeks.”

Cas nods. Now that he’s on a roll, it’s even harder to back down. “There were, and that’s exactly the kind of impact I’m talking about. Dean Winchester is a product of the Hollywood hype machine who thinks that he can cash in by exploiting the western wilds for his own gain. He builds a fake persona of the rugged American west and gets famous from it, but he just takes and takes, giving nothing back to the natural areas that his movie sets have destroyed.”

“Are there plans for the activist groups you are a part of to try to stop the filming?”

Looking directly into the camera, Cas imagines he’s talking directly to Winchester himself. “There will be if I have anything to say about it.”

********************

The blue skies overhead hold only a few scattered clouds, making it a beautiful spring day for a ride. Dean lets his silver stallion fall back so that he can admire the way Cole moves in the saddle as they cross the prairie back toward home. Although there are no longer cattle that need tending on the grasslands making up the almost three thousand acres of Dean’s property, riding the hills still gives him just as much of a thrill as it did when he was a kid.

The _Bonanza_ theme song cuts through the air as Dean’s phone starts ringing, pulling a bark of laughter from Cole. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Dean calls as he yanks the phone out of his pocket to answer it. Every time he lays it down, Cole finds a way to change to the ringtone. This is at least a little better than the music from _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ that it had been last week. “Go ahead, Char, you’re on speaker.”

Charlie launches right into a long rant about misguided zealots that Dean only half follows. It’s clear from the way she’s breathing heavily that she’s already had a good yell about whatever it is that has her so worked up. “This has gone on long enough,” she says, and there’s a pause long enough for Dean to get a word in.

“What’s going on?” he asks, pulling Wesson to a stop. Cole circles back around so that he’s sitting next to Dean.

“That environmentalist guy, Castiel Novak. I don’t know why he’s obsessed with you lately, but he mentioned your name in another interview and now the damn thing is all over Twitter. They even have a hashtag for you, #winchestershype. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it.”

Cole laughs and quickly ducks when Dean reaches out to backhand him. “I don’t even know what a fucking twitter is, Charlie.”

“I’m going to send you a link so you can see what people are saying, Dean. We can’t let this go.”

Dean and Cole both dismount and wait for the link. When it arrives, they open it and Cole grabs the phone out of his hand. “Oh Jesus, look at this,” he says, holding the phone out to show Dean a series of comments insulting everything from Dean’s movies to his hair.

“You have to respond,” Charlie says. “I know you don’t want your personal life splashed across the web, but you can’t let this go. He’s undermining your credibility and you won’t even defend yourself. You donate more money to environmental groups than any actor I know and that freaking house of yours has a lower carbon footprint than a tin can.”

“I don’t really care what he says,” Dean says, but there’s a part of him that is getting irritated at this asshole. Dean never asked to be dragged into this stupid pissing contest. The more fuel he adds to this fire, though, the more likely his personal life is to get pulled into it. Better to just let it blow over.

“But, Dean—”

“No, Charlie. Just let it go.”

“Fine, but I’m telling you, one more thing and I’m issuing an official statement on your behalf.”

He hangs up with Charlie and goes to shove the phone in his pocket when Cole snatches it away. He scrolls through the comments, letting out a low whistle at a particularly nasty one. “She’s right, you know,” he says, looking up at Dean. “I don’t get why you won’t stand up to this guy.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Because I don’t actually care what this idiot says about me. I get bad reviews and critics all the time. It’s part of the job, so I’ve just learned to deal with it.”

Cole studies him steadily for a moment. “Bullshit.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Cole responds, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’ve known you more than half my life, man, and I can tell that you’re lying. This guy is getting under your skin. Admit it.”

Dean thinks about keeping up the argument, but Cole is right. There’s no one in the world that knows him better. “Fine, yes, okay? The guy’s a douchebag who has no idea what the hell he’s talking about.”

Cole barks out a laugh. “Then tell him that.” He taps on the screen for a few seconds, then hands the phone back to Dean. On the screen is a freshly created Twitter account, complete with a profile picture from last Christmas. “Look,” he says, leaning over to touch the screen. He navigates to Novak’s profile and pulls up the posting of the interview in which he mentioned Dean. “Just hit that button to reply.”

Dean touches the little arrow, then stares at the screen, unable to decide what to write. He finally settles on _If this joker really knew anything at all about living in the West, he would know that I’m the real deal._

Craning his neck to see the screen, Cole lets out a whoop of laughter. “There you go,” he says, tugging Dean forward by his belt loops into a kiss. There’s a comfort level to kissing Cole that can only come from being with the same person for so long. He lets himself get caught up in the heat for a moment until Cole’s hands creep up to begin tugging his shirt up.

“We should head back to the house,” Dean murmurs, pulling away long enough to drag his lips across Cole’s jaw.

“You own everything for miles around, Winchester. Nobody out here to see us ‘cept the coyotes.” Before Dean can protest, he pops the top button on Dean’s jeans and tugs the zipper down.

“A helicopter could fly overhead,” Dean tries halfheartedly, biting back a moan when Cole slides a hand into his pants, palming his dick through his underwear.

Cole bites at Dean’s neck and Dean pushes into the hand that’s massaging him to get more pressure, pulling another small chuckle from Cole. “If people in a helicopter are that interested in watching us fuck, maybe we should start charging for a tour package.”

Using the advantage of surprise, Dean tackles Cole to the ground and starts on the other man’s zipper. “I’ll show you the tour package,” he snarks with a dirty grin.

********************

The twenty-five-minute drive to the university center from home is nowhere near as nerve wracking as driving in Houston was. In fact, it’s common for Cas to not pass another car until he crosses the river into Pierre. He tries to imagine his parents living in such a remote place and fails. Rachel Novak used to complain about a ten-minute car ride to her hairdresser.

Cas normally tries to think about his parents as little as possible, but the latest letter from MetraCorp put everything right at the forefront of his mind again. He hasn’t spoken to either of them in almost ten years and today won’t be the day that he breaks that promise. Just like the last four dozen identical envelopes, he’d shoved it in his desk drawer unopened. He thinks about throwing them out every time he opens the drawer, but something always stops him.

Pulling into a parking space at the college, Cas feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Given the frequency with which he forgets to charge the thing, he’s impressed that it is still even powered up this late in the day. Although he and Will don’t argue about much, not being able to get in touch with Cas because his phone has died at some point during the day tops the list. Cas imagines that Will’s concern is a holdover from their sometimes dangerous days in the Kyrgyz Republic, but it’s still annoying as hell. If Will is like this now, Cas can’t even imagine what it would be like if they were actually dating. Wanting someone to share his life with isn’t the same thing as wanting someone to micromanage it.

The caller ID on the phone shows that it’s Gabe calling. For some reason, Gabe has an almost pathological hatred for texting that Cas will never understand. It isn’t that he doesn’t like people, but he’s happy for any way he can find to get out of talking to them. He grabs his messenger bag and climbs out of the truck, answering the phone with a sigh. “I’m walking into class, Gabe,” he says gruffly.

“Good afternoon, Cas. I’m doing fine, thanks for asking. It’s beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Gabe’s mocking tone pours through the phone.

“It actually looks like rain. Did you want something?” Cas responds dryly, rolling his eyes as he pulls the heavy glass door open and steps into the air-conditioned lobby.

“Have you been on Twitter today?”

Cas pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at the screen. Yes, the phone says that it’s Gabe and it sounds like Gabe. “You’re on Twitter?” he asks with a frown.

“Fuck no,” Gabe barks. “I’m up in Cherry Creek to see a client and one of the kids asked if I knew you. You kicked a hornet’s nest with this Dean Winchester thing, babe.”

Walking into the small office that he shares with three other adjunct professors at the Center, Cas is glad to find it empty. He pushes the door closed and pulls his tablet out of his bag. Fucking Dean Winchester again. He’s beginning to regret ever mentioning the guy’s name. “What happened?” he asks, starting Twitter and navigating to his own profile. There are thousands of new mentions, retweets, and likes since he checked it last night. What the hell? While he has a fairly decent following, it’s nothing that would account for this.

“Sometime in the last eight hours, Dean Winchester got a Twitter account and a response to your retweet of the interview from yesterday is the only thing he has posted.”

Cas quickly searches for Winchester’s name and finds a new, unverified account. The only tweet on the profile is indeed a retweet of Cas’ posting, with the comment _If this joker really knew anything at all about living in the West, he would know that I’m the real deal._ While Cas is looking at the screen, a second tweet pops up. His handle is tagged but there isn’t a caption, just a photo that is clearly a selfie of Winchester standing with a horse, nothing but rolling hills and prairie behind him. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cas mutters.

“Looks like you touched a nerve. Apparently, this dude has never even come close to joining social media before. According to Maxine’s little brother, the internet is losing its collective shit. The guy has almost five-hundred thousand followers already and they’re all aimed right at you.”

Navigating back to his own profile, Cas starts scrolling through his notifications. Sure enough, they seem to be split largely in Winchester’s favor, with two hashtags being mentioned repeatedly. Winchester’s fans tag their posts #therealdeal, while the environmental activists who follow Cas are using the tag #winchestershype. Before he can think better of it, he taps on Winchester’s selfie and replies with _Anyone can stage a selfie. Are you really so full of yourself that you think a movie set is the same as living off the land?_ Backing down from a bully really isn’t in Cas’ nature.

“What did you do?” Gabe says in a choked voice almost as soon as Cas hits the send button. There’s commotion in the background on Gabe’s end and then the clear sounds of a teenage boy yelling something Cas can’t quite make out. “Nathaniel is losing his mind. What did you do?” he repeats.

“I responded. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”

“Oh, boy. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Cassie.”

“Stop calling me that,” Cas barks. “I have class in a few minutes. This childishness is going to have to wait. I’ll talk to you later, Gabe.”

Cas’ first class on water conversation goes smoothly. The students have been developing and working on group projects centering on Lake Oahu, and that keeps them busy for most of the class. At the beginning of the session, Cas stuffed his phone into his bag and adamantly refused to look at it during class. It’s no surprise, then, that when he finally pulls it out after the students are dismissed, there are again over a thousand notifications. Rather than wading through them, he goes directly to Winchester’s profile. _If that looks like a movie set, you really do know nothing about South Dakota_ is Dean’s response. Cas bites back a growl and quickly types out _And how long will it take you to ruin those grasslands too?_ before putting the phone back into his bag.

For the rest of the day, Cas checks his phone as often as he can. Every time he thinks that Winchester will just give up, another tweet from his handle pops up and Cas is forced to respond. Gradually, the tweets become increasingly hostile, until Cas is seeing red every time he opens his phone. If this asshole thinks he can get one over on Cas, he’s got another thing coming. He slams his phone back into the bag after the last one, just as the first students for his last class of the day start to trickle in. Today’s lesson is on historical predator management practices, so it’s thankfully one Cas doesn’t need to think about too hard.

“You okay, Mr. Novak?” one of the younger students asks as she takes her seat at the front of the class. She’s an active participate in the class, with good ideas and a firm grasp of the concepts. Lillian? Lori? Something that begins with an ‘L’.

“I’m fine, uh, Lisa,” Cas responds, her name finally coming to him in a flash. He’s never been very good at remembering names.

She glances down at her phone when it dings softly and then back up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really? Because you might want to check your Twitter.”

Cas sighs, his fingers itching to reach for his phone. “I’m sure it will keep until after class.”

Lisa rolls her eyes and then looks back down at her phone. “Maybe you boys should go into the mountains and settle this like men,” she reads from the screen. “You were both tagged by Charlie Bradbury. I’m pretty sure that’s his publicist.”

“How do you know that?”

Lisa shrugs delicately. “I’m a fan. There isn’t a lot of stuff available about him on the net, so we take what we can get.” She suddenly looks up at Cas with wide, apprehensive eyes. “That’s not gonna affect my grade, is it?”

“Of course not,” Cas replies with a frown. As if he would ever penalize a student for having different opinions.

“We have a few minutes before class starts. You could respond,” she encourages with a cheeky grin. She’s obviously getting a kick out of these two parts of her life colliding.

Although Cas tells himself he shouldn’t, he pulls the phone out anyway and quickly types a response before turning it off completely and putting it back into the bag. _I’m game if he is._ Lisa’s phone dings and she looks up at him with a smirk after reading it. Cas raises one eyebrow and she flushes before quickly turning it on silent and putting it away.

Class goes smoothly. Even though Cas is a little distracted, he knows the material well enough that he barely needs to look at his notes. He’s packing up his things as the students file out when Lisa pauses at his desk. “You’ve got a response,” she says, then quickly fades into the crowd. Cas sighs and forces himself to wait until he gets to his truck to turn the phone back on.

Sure enough, there is a tweet from Charlie Bradbury, asking for a follow so that he can send a direct message. Cas pauses with his finger hovering over the screen, then taps the icon to follow him. Almost immediately, a message appears in his inbox. It is a phone number with an out of state area code, followed by the words _Call me if you’re serious._

Cas puts the phone away and starts the truck. Is he serious? As he drives home, he thinks about the attention that the volley of tweets today brought to the cause. In the big picture, he doesn’t really think that Winchester, or his movies, are that big of a deal, but if he encouraged just one of Winchester’s followers to think about the environmental impact, it was worth it. Lisa said that there is so little information about him on the net that fans eat up anything can find, so actually meeting the man could really make a difference in spreading the message. Cas is irritated enough by him that playing up the feud won’t be a hardship.

As soon as he pulls up in front of his house, he kills the engine and pulls out his phone to dial the number.

“Bradbury,” a perky female voice answers.

Cas frowns. He was expecting a man. “Charlie Bradbury?”

There’s a soft tinkle of laughter. “You got her. No, I’m not a man, and yes, I probably am as young as I sound. Now that we got that out of the way, what can I do for you?”

“I, ah, this is Castiel Novak. You gave me your number?”

“Aces,” she says with a soft squeal. “I was hoping you’d call. Look, you probably know by now, but I’m Dean Winchester’s publicist. Whatever is behind this feud you’ve got going with Dean, it’s drumming up a ton of attention, so I thought maybe we could all benefit from it.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asks apprehensively.

“A week long camping trip in the wilds in southern South Dakota. Roughing it only, no contact with civilization. You’ll each be given a wireless recorder to record daily video logs, which will be sent to me to post on the blog we’re going to set up. At the end of the week, you’ll both participate in an interview that will air as the kick off for our press tour for _Two to Go_.”

“And if what I have to say about him or the movie is negative?”

Charlie laughs again. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying that in Hollywood, even negative publicity is good publicity? Be honest, everything will be posted without editing. This will be as real as it gets.”

With just five hundred thousand fans on twitter, so much attention has already been brought to the issues surrounding the use of wilderness lands as movie sets. The kind of exposure that Charlie is talking about would be astronomical compared to that. No matter how unimportant Winchester is in the big picture, this is an opportunity to shed light not only on the issues surrounding Winchester’s movies but all of the other causes Cas is involved in. At the end of the day, there really is only one logical choice. He takes a deep breath and says, “I’m in.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean looks up at the clear blue sky above him and sighs. How did he let himself get talked into this bullshit? Sam and Charlie are unloading Jericho and Wesson, while Dean checks the packs again. Six days. He’s going to be stuck with this asshole for six days, with nothing and no one to distract him. It isn’t like Dean has never gone camping before, but camping with someone he dislikes is bound to be less comfortable than a toothache.

“Don’t forget to make your posts every day,” Charlie says, leading Jericho around the side of the truck to tie him to the trailer. Sam follows with Wesson and the two of them start to saddle the horses.

“I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” Dean snaps. He’s irritated by the whole damn thing and Novak hasn’t even arrived yet. Less than four weeks until the press tour starts and he’s losing a whole six days to this fiasco.

Charlie slaps him lightly on the back of the head. “Pull the stick out of your ass, Dean,” she says with a grimace. “If you plan to be an asshole the whole time, it defeats the purpose. You’re supposed to be winning him over. Rustle up some of that Winchester charm.”

Dean helps hoist Wesson’s saddle onto his back and Charlie makes quick work of adjusting the straps, tying a perfect saddle knot. “I’m not the one who started this,” he reminds her, running a soft hand over the horse’s flank. “I’m giving up almost a whole week of my vacation for this bullshit, so you’ll take what you get.”

“When you signed the contract, you agreed to do publicity for the movies outside of the normal press tours. Pretty sure this counts, bucko.”

“I’m sure my lawyer could fight that,” he grouses back.

Sam looks over from where he’s finishing up with Jericho and shakes his head. “Stop being such a spoilsport, Dean. You like camping, and anyway, it’s just six days. Show him the sights, make nice, and you’ll be back before you know it.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but the sound of tires on gravel distracts him. He watches as a decrepit Ford truck pulls up beside the Silverado and Cas Novak gets out. He’s just as gorgeous in real life as he was on TV and Dean doesn’t even bother trying to stop himself from admiring the way his jeans hug his ass when he stretches to pull two rucksacks out of the bed of the truck. The guy may be an asshole, but he’s a fucking hot asshole. Six days is going to be five and half days too long.

“Cas, nice to finally meet you,” Charlie says with a smile, her red curls bouncing as she strides over to offer Novak her hand. The man is taller in person than Dean was expecting, only an inch or two shorter than Dean, so he towers over Charlie. He wears a dark blue Henley under his heavy canvas jacket and he already looks enough like a cowboy that Dean is at least a little relieved that he won’t be babysitting a city boy all week.

“Same,” Novak replies with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In the mid-morning sun, they’re even bluer than they were on the television.

“Let me introduce you,” Charlie says easily as if they’re at a dinner party instead of preparing for a week during which this man is going to do his best to humiliate Dean. For the thousandth time, Dean curses himself for allowing Charlie to talk him into this. “This is Dean, as I’m sure you know,” Charlie says, then she turns to indicate Sam, “and this is his brother.” If Novak thinks it weird that she omitted his name, he doesn’t comment. There had been a short-lived, but intense argument over giving Novak even that much information about Dean’s personal life. Dean won, of course, but he isn’t sure the victory really matters. “Although it’s pretty safe out here, we figured it was better to drive your truck back into town rather than leave it parked out here,” she continues.

Novak grunts a greeting in Sam’s direction and hands him the keys to the truck. “Which one is mine?” he asks, gesturing to the horses.

Dean steps up with a sigh. “This is Jericho,” he says, laying his hand on the bay gelding’s neck. “You know how to ride, right?”

Novak meets his eyes with a challenging lift of one eyebrow. “Yes, I can ride. Growing up in Texas, I was probably riding before I could walk.”

“Fine,” Dean spits out. “Load up your gear and we’ll head out. The radar looks clear for the week, but a rainstorm can kick up pretty quick out here. I wanna get camp set up before nightfall. It’s a four-hour trip to the site, so let’s get moving.” Novak shrugs and makes quick work of strapping his bags to the horse’s flank. Dean has to admit that he’s a little impressed by the man’s efficiency. “At least you didn’t over pack,” he adds.

Another sardonic lift of his eyebrow and Novak responds, “I have been camping before.”

“Good,” Dean retorts, swinging himself up into Wesson’s saddle. “I’ve been camping in these hills my entire life, so try to keep up.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dean regrets them. Ever since Charlie talked him into this, Dean has been obsessing over the details of his personal life that he might let slip to Novak. It’s not hard to keep things vague during an interview, but keeping it up for six days is going to be almost impossible. What other information might he mention that Novak could use against him?

Thankfully, the other man doesn’t comment. He just mounts his horse and waits for Charlie and Sam to check their packs one last time. Only the basic necessities, including two tents with sleeping bags, tools, cookware, and dried foodstuffs are going with them. Dean and Cole already took the feed and bedding for the horses out to the campsite on the UTV, but they’ll need to hunt or fish if they want to supplement their diets with meat. The packs also contain the GPS tracker and digital recorders for Charlie’s video blog, along with solar chargers. This is the weirdest camping trip Dean has ever been on.

Dean squeezes Wesson’s sides to get him moving and turns him toward the east without looking back to make sure Novak is following. While riding in the wide-open grasslands has always been an escape for Dean, being tethered, even figuratively, to a complete stranger makes him uncomfortable. The other man’s gaze is a constant weight on the back of Dean’s neck. He’ll be glad when they make camp and he can escape the scrutiny for a little while.

They ride in silence for a while, with Dean marking off the familiar landmarks that presumably look like nothing but rocks and shrubs to Novak. The campsite they’re heading to is on the easternmost edge of Dean’s property. Although it will take them four hours to ride there from the main road, it’s only an hour to the house. By car on the long winding dirt road that cuts through the grasslands straight down from Kadoka, it’s less than twenty minutes, but Novak will never know that.

They’re almost two hours into the long, silently awkward trip and Dean is wracking his brain for something to say. While he isn’t sure that anything good can come out of this adventure, a week of strained silence is almost worse than actually talking to each other. He drops back so that they’re riding side by side, then he clears his throat and says, “You hunt? We only packed dry goods and jerky. Gonna be a slim week unless we add to it.”

Novak turns and gives him a measured look. “I have a permit but I didn’t bring my rifle. I’m not a fan of poaching.”

Shit. There’s no way for Dean to make it clear that they’re okay to hunt on private property without admitting that he owns the land. “I brought mine,” he says, tapping the stock of the Remington tied to his saddle, then follows it up with, “We’ve got permission to hunt small game and fish around where we’ll be camping.” Hopefully, Novak won’t delve too deep into where that permission came from. A small head nod is the only acknowledgment Dean gets. He lets out the breath he was holding and turns his attention back to the trail in front of him. Talking as little as possible is definitely better.

It’s late afternoon by the time they reach the area Dean picked out for the campsite. He chose it because there’s plenty of fresh water available from both a small lake and the White River that separates Dean’s land from the Pine Ridge Reservation. They’re close enough to the house to get help in an emergency but far enough away that they’ll be able to explore without stumbling across anything Dean doesn’t want the other man to see. It’s wilderness camping without any of the risks.

Despite Dean’s discomfort, he has to admit that they work well in tandem as they set up the camp. They water the horses at the small lake, then Novak helps string a line to tie them and they work together to feed and brush them down. The tents are large enough to comfortably hold all of their supplies away from the elements, so it takes both of them to set each one up. They get everything unloaded and a fire started in the freshly dug and cleared pit just as dusk is falling.

“You wanna fill these up and I’ll throw together something for dinner?” Dean asks, handing Novak two filtered water bags. The other man looks from Dean’s face to the bags and then nods slightly. He turns and walks toward the lake. Dean watches him go, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being silently judged during every encounter.

Opening a can of stew, Dean nestles it in the coals of the fire to heat while he prepares some mix for biscuits. Novak crouches at the water’s edge, carefully letting the water filter into the bags. Although Dean is pretty sure they could drink the water from the lake without filtering it if they had to, it won’t taste as good, so it’s worth the effort. Dean watches him work, admiring the efficient way he moves. Although Novak looks to have an average build from the way his clothes fit, there’s something about the way he moves that suggests that he’s hiding a whole lot of muscle underneath them. When Novak suddenly straightens up and turns back toward camp, he catches Dean watching him. Dean quickly looks away, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up when Novak hands him the bags.

Adding a few splashes of water to the biscuit mix, Dean stirs the dough then shapes six flat rounds before tucking them into a small iron skillet. He slides the skillet into the coals next to the can of stew and they wait in silence while the food cooks. When they’re done, they eat in silence too, talking only when absolutely needed, and then retire to their tents without even saying goodnight. Dean feels like he’s on edge, waiting for the interrogation to start. If the whole point of this trip was for Novak to analyze Dean and decide whether he’s a ‘real cowboy,’ why hasn’t he asked a single question?

Inside his tent, Dean pulls out the digital recorder, slowly turning it over in his hands while he thinks about what he wants to say. He’d love to just drop the thing in the lake, but he’s pretty sure Charlie would kill him. Fiddling with the settings for a moment, he holds it up so that it gives a good view of his face and the inside of the tent. Might as well get it over with.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the record button. “Day one, we made it to the campsite. At least this guy seems like he knows what he’s doing out here, so I won’t be doing all the work.” He pauses and looks away from the screen, remembering the way Novak helped with the setup and his easy, familiar way with the horses. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “We haven’t really talked about anything, which is weird, but I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings,” he says, then adds as an afterthought, “Dean Winchester out.” He pushes the icon that will wirelessly send the video to Charlie then changes into sweats and a t-shirt to sleep.

As Dean zips his sleeping bag up around himself and punches his duffel of clothes into a makeshift pillow, he tries to imagine how he’s going to survive another five days of this.

********************

Soft scuffling sounds outside the tent greet Cas as soon as he wakes up. He stretches lightly, cataloging the few aches caused by sleeping on the ground. Although it’s only been a few months since he camped, he’s not as young as he used to be and his body doesn’t bounce back as quickly. He pulls on fresh underwear and slips into his jeans from yesterday, but settles for a long sleeve flannel and a t-shirt instead of another Henley, that way he can take off the over shirt if it gets too warm.

He unzips the tent and peeks out to see Dean next to the fire, a kettle and skillet propped on a metal grate over the flames. Beyond the fire pit, the horses munch contentedly on nosebags of grain, meaning that Dean already took care of them this morning. The efficient way he set up the camp and took care of the horses last night didn’t escape Cas’ notice either. It’s a good indication that maybe Dean knows more about living off the land than Cas assumed he did.

From his vantage point, it’s clear that Dean hasn’t noticed that he’s awake yet, so Cas takes the opportunity to study him. It’s not as if Cas didn’t already know that Dean is attractive. After all, he’s a movie star. He’s paid to be attractive. Still, beyond his good looks, Dean isn’t quite what he was expecting in person. He’s quiet but capable as he moves around the campsite, a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips and a baggy sweatshirt replacing his canvas jacket. The early morning sun picks up blond highlights in his hair, making it appear a lighter brown than it seemed yesterday. Even from this distance, Cas can make out the dusting of freckles that spread across Dean’s cheeks, making him look younger than he is. He hums softly as he works, a low, sad tune that Cas doesn’t recognize. No, he’s definitely not what Cas was expecting at all.

Ensuring that he makes enough noise to alert Dean to his presence, Cas unzips the tent the rest of the way and crawls out. Dean looks up immediately, his open, easy expression shuttering as soon as he sees Cas. “Good morning,” Cas calls, zipping the tent tight behind him.

“Morning,” Dean returns, leaning down to stir something in the skillet. “There’s coffee if you want and I fried up some potatoes for breakfast. The lake ain’t stocked, but I figured we could hike across the ridge to the river and fish for lunch.” He doesn’t fully meet Cas’ eyes the entire time he’s talking as if he isn’t sure whether he should look at him or not.

“That sounds fine, and yes, thank you, coffee would be good.” The words sound stilted and awkward to Cas’ ears, but Dean just nods and lifts the kettle to pour Cas a cup. The moment the bitter liquid hits his tongue he can tell it’s instant, but it’s better than no coffee at all, so Cas just nods his thanks and circles the fire pit to sit on the boulder they'd moved into position last night. “I can cook lunch since you made dinner and breakfast,” he offers, raising his eyes to meet Dean’s when he looks up. Dean’s expression softens, just slightly, and he nods. Cas holds his gaze a moment longer, letting himself get lost in the green of Dean’s eyes before he gives his own nod and looks away.

After breakfast, they hang around camp for a while, setting up a few more things. Dean pulls a collapsible shovel from one of the packs and leads Cas about two hundred yards from the campsite, where he demonstrates how to dig a latrine. Even the most remote villages in the Kyrgyz Republic had established, though primitive, septic systems in communal bathhouses, so how they would handle their waste wasn’t something that Cas had even thought of. They take turns digging, until they have a hole about three feet long by eight inches wide, and Dean explains that it should only be six inches deep because the top layer of soil contains all the microbes needed to break down the waste. Despite himself, Cas is impressed by Dean’s knowledge.

He follows Dean back to the campsite and watches while he stows the shovel back in the supply pack. Cas really wants to ask about Dean’s previous camping experience and where he learned to set up an extended campsite like this, but almost as if he expected Cas’ question and wants to distract him, Dean looks up with two collapsible rods in his hand and says, “You wanna hike over the ridge to go fishin’?”

Given that Dean invited him on this trip, Cas isn’t surprised to see that he knows something about living off the land, but he never imagined the extent of Dean’s knowledge. He’s a little disconcerted to realize that Dean is completely comfortable in the wild. While they walk, and even as they settle along the shore to fish, he does his best to make as little impact on the environment as possible. Even though the obvious purpose of this trip is to convince Cas of his authenticity, he does nothing to call attention to it.

Even this early in the spring, while the water is still cold, the fishing is good. They set up a dozen yards from each other to cast into the icy water, but Cas is more interested in watching Dean than the river. After each cast, Dean adjusts the tension on his reel, his tongue poking through his teeth in concentration. After he pulls in his second medium-sized crappie while Cas hasn’t even had a bite, Cas is a little bit in awe. It’s getting harder and harder to remember that he’s supposed to be skeptical of Dean. “Where did you learn to fish like that?” he asks, reeling in his empty line. Two fish are plenty for them to eat for lunch.

Dean startles and looks over at him as if he’s just remembering that Cas is there. His lips quirk into a small frown, then he sighs. “My old man started takin’ me fishin’ when I was about four or five. Just somethin’ I’ve always liked to do to pass the time. It’s relaxing.”

Cas’ father never took him fishing. Instead, he’d learned from the village men in the Kyrgyz Republic. Cas would be shocked if Howard Novak ever held a fishing rod in his life. Not knowing what to say, he just nods. The walk back to camp is silent, with Dean a dozen steps ahead and Cas trailing behind with the catch. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the slight bow of Dean’s legs or the gentle sway of his backside as he walks, but there isn’t much else to keep his attention from straying to his childhood and the distant relationship he’d had with his father. He’s been in Dean’s presence for just over twenty-four hours and he’s already envious, though not of his fame or his money. He’s jealous of something as simple as a father that would take him fishing.

The stilted awkwardness continues as Cas skins and fillets the fish for lunch, but he gets a slight reprieve when Dean walks away to care for the animals while he’s cooking. Given that Dean is obviously hoping for a certain amount of good press out of this endeavor, Cas was expecting at least a token effort at charm. Instead, he’s been faced with a taciturn, barely verbal man that seems like the antithesis of a suave Hollywood actor. With Dean’s almost compulsive refusal to engage in conversation, he’s unsure how to bring up Dean’s movies or the environmental issues they’re ostensibly here to discuss.

Despite Cas’ wandering thoughts, the fish cooks up flaky and perfect, and Dean accepts the plate Cas offers him with a murmured, “Thanks.” They eat in silence, barely looking at each other, and by the time his plate is clear, Cas is on edge. He wasn’t expecting to make friends with Dean, but he was at least expecting some kind of conversation. If he’s supposed to be getting to know the real Dean, how can he do that when the other man won’t even look at him?

“I think I’m going to go for a walk,” Cas says suddenly, standing up. He needs some space to get his head back in the game.

Dean looks startled. “Uh, okay. Um, you want me to go with you?”

Cas shakes his head sharply. “I think we could use some time apart, don’t you?”

There’s a flash of something that looks like hurt in Dean’s eyes, then he blinks and it’s gone so quickly Cas wonders if he imagined it. “Wait a sec,” Dean says, walking over and unzipping his tent. He crawls inside and rummages around, coming back out holding the rifle and a handful of shells. “Take this. You shouldn’t run into anything too dangerous out here, but you never know. We get the odd mountain lion or bobcat around here sometimes.” He looks vaguely uncomfortable at the words, but Cas can’t for the life of him figure out why. Dean squeezes the back of his neck and adds with a small smile, “Wouldn’t say no to some small game for dinner either, if you see anything? We’ve got beans and jerky, or another can of stew, but fresh meat would be nice.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Cas agrees, taking the rifle and pocketing the shells. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something important about the exchange, but before he can ask anything else, Dean turns and heads toward the lake with the dishes from lunch. It’s a clear dismissal.

There isn’t a path, but as long as Cas has his compass, there’s no risk of getting lost. He wanders for a while, unable to quiet his thoughts. Although he knows he should be focusing the environmental issues, Cas can’t stop himself from thinking about the man behind the Hollywood hype and big budget movies. In just under a day, Dean has challenged almost every preconceived notion Cas had, and the feeling of being off balance is not a comfortable one.

He knows that at some point they will need to talk about Dean’s movies and the public disagreement that brought them out here, but Dean seems intent on ignoring it. Although Cas certainly doesn’t want to be at each other’s throats constantly, pretending like they’re on this trip for the fun of it really isn’t getting anything accomplished. He needs to bring up the issues, to really challenge Dean, but he finds the thought off-putting. The awkward silence is uncomfortable, but starting a fight over the buffalo or grassland preservation seems untenable.

Stopping beside a scraggly hawthorn, Cas shifts the weight of the rifle on his back then takes a long drink from his canteen before hanging it back around his neck. Although he’s been walking slowly, enjoying the quiet beauty of the area, he’s probably covered several miles. While it won’t get dark for another few hours, especially this late in the spring, he’d rather not be stumbling around on an unfamiliar prairie when dusk starts to fall. His thoughts about Dean are no clearer than when he left, but with a small sigh, he turns back toward camp.

Mindful of what Dean said about meat for dinner, he keeps his eye out for game as he walks. Even in the vast emptiness, it doesn’t take him long to spot a rabbit in the distance. He pulls the rifle strap over his head and fits the butt of the stock against his shoulder, sights through the scope, and gently squeezes the trigger. The sharp crack breaks the silence and the rabbit falls backward into the dirt. As he crosses the grassland to collect it, Cas says a small prayer of thanks to the rabbit’s spirit for providing their dinner.

On the return walk, Cas raises the rifle two more times and brings down another rabbit and a plump pheasant. With no way to keep the meat fresh, there isn’t any point in taking more than they can eat tonight, so he field dresses the animals and slings the rifle over his back again. He checks the compass to get his bearings, then starts in the direction of camp.

Even with the compass to guide him, Cas ends up coming back to the campsite from farther north than he was expecting. Without the ridge in his way, there is a clear view of the tents and the shrubs where the horses are tied in the distance. There’s no movement around the camp and for a moment, Cas wonders where Dean is. He walks another twenty feet before a soft splashing noise draws his attention to the lake shore.

Dean is crouched in the shallows at the edge of the water, his bare backside clearly visible even from this distance. Before Cas can avert his eyes, Dean stands, stretching his arms above his head, then runs a wet cloth down over his bare chest. His skin is a soft golden brown all over, with no visible tan lines, and Cas can’t help but imagine how much time he’s spent outdoors like this for that to be the case.

Although he isn’t bulky, his body is well muscled, with thick biceps and thighs that even Cas admits look amazing straddling a horse. The trail of water that runs down his chest glistens in the late afternoon sun, and Cas’ eyes follow it almost unwillingly, down across firm abs, past the deep vee of his hips to the thatch of hair around the soft swell of his cock. Cas’ mouth goes dry and his body responds instantly to the sight.

Crouching again to drag the rag through the water, Dean turns slightly so that his back is to Cas again. Although a part of him wants to linger and take in more of the show, he’s slightly mortified to have violated Dean’s privacy this way. Rather than heading straight for camp, he backtracks a bit and waits another fifteen minutes before sauntering into camp from the east.

Dean is sitting on the boulder by the fire, fully clothed in soft sweatpants and his hoodie, though his hair is still wet. A small wire bound book is in his hands, but he quickly closes it and shoves it in the front pocket of his hoodie when Cas approaches. “Not too shabby,” he says appreciatively when he sees the game Cas has brought back for dinner.

They prep the rabbits and the pheasant together then put them on spits to roast over the fire while they care for the horses. When they’re crispy, with juices that run clear and sizzle when it drips onto the flames, Dean pulls them off the fire and uses his pocket knife to carve the meat off the bones. “You did good today, Cas,” Dean says, companionably bumping shoulders with Cas while they eat.

The rest of the evening is still quiet, but Cas can’t shake the feeling that something changed while he was gone. Dean meets his eyes and smiles softly when he says good night, almost as if they’re friends. Cas isn’t sure what it was that happened, but Dean seems less nervous and more comfortable than he’s been since they left Charlie and his brother at the meetup spot.

Inside his own tent, Cas pulls out his recorder and starts his second video. “It’s the end of our second day. We fished for lunch and then roasted wild rabbit and pheasant for dinner.” He looks away from the camera, down at his lap, then shrugs. “Dean may not be as helpless out here as I assumed he would be.”

Not only is Dean not helpless, he seems to be better prepared for meeting their needs than Cas is. Where Cas is used to camp food that sacrifices palatability for being filling, everything Dean has cooked has been tasty, and he seems to be completely comfortable and capable in the wilderness. When an image of Dean in the lake, his long, tanned body silhouetted against the sky, passes through Cas’ mind, he flushes and looks back up at the camera defiantly. “That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be held responsible for the damage his movies have caused.” He snaps the recorder closed before he can take it back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/betweenthelines1_zpsyrstflke.jpg.html)

Even though he wakes up early, Dean lays in his tent for a while, enjoying the morning sounds. Wind rustles softly through the switchgrass, periodically punctuated by the shrill whistle of a bobwhite. It sounds like home, the long-repressed memories of his childhood play to a soundtrack of those sounds. All that is missing is the occasional mournful call of a coyote and the plodding thud of cattle hooves. Dean closes his eyes and lets the sounds sweep over him.

After years of working on movie sets all over the world, his body is programmed to wake up early and ready to go. Even when he’s in between filming it’s a hard habit to let go of. While the upcoming press tour won’t have the long hours or grueling workouts that are common on set, the frantic pace and dozens of appearances packed into two whirlwind weeks is harder on Dean than fourteen hour days could ever be. There definitely won’t be time for sleeping in or listening to the natural music of the prairie.

Dean catches the soft sounds of movement outside the tent, including Cas humming a cheerful tune that makes him smile. The horses whinny softly and Dean can picture him approaching with the grain bags. Knowing that Cas can hold his own out here gives Dean a sense of relaxation that he wasn’t expecting. Cas isn’t afraid of hard work and he often takes care of things before Dean even asks. If it wasn’t for the continued splintered edge of silence between them, Dean could almost imagine that they are friends, or even partners, on vacation together.

They’re not, though, Dean reminds himself. They’re out here because Cas thinks that Dean is some kind of hack who destroys the environment and Dean is supposed to be proving him wrong. Every time Cas looks at him and takes a breath to speak, Dean tenses up, waiting for Cas to fire the first volley. If Dean is looking for a partner, he certainly won’t find one in that direction, no matter how much a part of him might wonder what it would be like to have that kind of easy companionship with Cas. Pushing those thoughts away Dean rises and dresses quickly before crawling to the edge of the tent. Laying around here all day isn’t going to accomplish anything. While Cas was away on his hike yesterday, Dean had taken stock of exactly what he needed to do to make this trip a success and it started with making an actual effort.

When Dean appears next to him at the picket line and offers a grin, Cas returns it tentatively before handing him the other grain bag. Now that they’re into a routine, it doesn’t take long to care for the horses and make breakfast. The move easily, shifting around each other as if they’ve been working together for years instead of just days. When Cas starts humming an old Led Zeppelin song, Dean joins in. He even catches himself making small talk. Cas gives him a searching look the first time he makes a vague comment about the weather, but the work goes a lot quicker when it isn’t done in complete silence.

Once the morning chores are done and they’re finishing up their breakfast, Dean swallows the last of his coffee and looks across the fire at Cas, who is staring out across the lake. “Do you wanna go exploring?” he says with feigned nonchalance even though he’s been building up to asking all morning. Cas turns to him with an apprehensive look, then shrugs. Suddenly, Dean wants to convince him. “There’s a gorge about two hours from here that’s really stunning. We could pack some food and ride out. We’d be back by dinner.”

Cas’ genuine smiles are so rare that Dean feels like he’s really accomplished something when Cas agrees with a soft grin that finally reaches his eyes. They saddle the horses and start out around mid-morning, a hearty lunch of beef jerky and trail bread in a pack attached to Dean’s saddle. He brought the Remington, but he’s not planning to use it.

The first forty minutes of the trip are almost silent. Although Dean points out what he thinks are interesting sights along the way, Cas does little more than murmur in appreciation. Finally, Dean can’t take the waiting anymore. If Cas won’t start, then he will. “You’re not really what I was expecting,” he blurts out, turning in his saddle to look at Cas.

Cas’ eyes widen in surprise, then he smiles slightly. “That’s a good thing since I probably didn’t make the best first impression,” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re not really what I was expecting either.”

Dean considers that for a while, eyes scanning the landscape around them. He wants to ask what exactly Cas expected, but given Cas’ tweets, he’s pretty sure he knows. After a while, he turns back to Cas as Wesson continues his easy, plodding gait. “You’re from Texas?” he asks, looking for another way to break the tension.

A slight nod. “Outside of Houston.” Dean acknowledges the reply with a nod of his own but wishes the other man would elaborate. While he’s still thinking of something else to say, Cas adds, “You know a lot about this area.”

How much to reveal? Being so used to keeping everything about his life close to his chest, any detail seems like too much. Once they leave here, Cas could spread everything he’s learned all over the internet and Dean would be outed more thoroughly than even Charlie could put a stop to. Every bit of Dean is screaming for him to put Cas off, to make up a lie or keep the details so vague that they really say nothing at all. Instead, he pushes the thread of panic away and throws caution to the wind. “I grew up here. I’ve been hiking and camping on this land my whole life.”

“Why don’t you ever say that? Every interview I’ve seen, you make it sound like you’re from the west coast, a product of Hollywood. It’s like Ty Carter is just a role you play.”

Dean looks at him sharply. “Ty Carter _is_ just a role I play. Acting is my escape.”

Cas looks intrigued, but he doesn’t respond. They ride in silence for a while longer, before Cas murmurs, “You’re not the only one running from something.” The emotion in his voice strikes a nerve in Dean, but he has no idea what to say so he doesn’t acknowledge that he heard the soft words at all.

They reach the gorge and hobble the horses in the brush away from the edge. Dean leads the way and they stand at the top, looking down into the tumbling, white-capped river below. This early in the spring, the water is still high with runoff from the snow thaw and the dull roar echoes against the canyon walls. Above them, the sky is a wide blue canopy stretching toward the mountain peaks barely visible in the distance. Although Dean has been all over the acres and acres of land, this has always been one of his favorite spots, probably because his father never came out this far. He remembers riding this trail with his mother when he was only nine or ten, but by the time he’d gotten much older it wasn’t safe to leave his father alone with Sam anymore.

Cas raises his arms and closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them to stare out across the gorge. “Standing up here, looking down at what nature has taken thousands and thousands of years to create,” he says in a soft, reverent voice, “it’s hard not to feel small and insignificant. We’re just a grain of sand in the great big dessert. This feeling right here, this is why I try so hard to protect nature. I’ve been searching for that feeling my whole life.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Dean breathes in agreement. He can’t stop looking at Cas, at the way his eyes reflect the light like he’s glowing from within, radiating contentment, and his serene smile stirs something beneath Dean’s breastbone.

“That seems to run counter to being an actor,” Cas says, squinting against the sun as he turns to look at Dean. “Isn’t acting all about being famous and bigger than life?”

Dean huffs in disagreement. “I guess it seems that way on the surface, but it’s never been like that for me. Acting is about taking me out of the equation. Dean Winchester ceases to exist the moment I slip into Ty Carter’s skin. It’s not about me, it’s all about him. Acting lets me be someone else, fame is just the price I pay to be able to do it.”

Cas studies him for a long moment, his eyes searching Dean’s face like he’s trying to pull him apart and see inside. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he smiles. “I never thought about it like that. It’s sort of beautiful.”

A flare of heat creeps up Dean’s cheeks and he looks away. He’s never told anyone outside of his immediate family and Charlie how he feels about acting. It’s a little scary how easy it was to say those things to Cas. How much more could he reveal without meaning to?

To distract from his sudden embarrassment, Dean suggests they ride along the gorge for a while, then turn back toward camp. Cas agrees, but as soon as they’re mounted, he clears his throat and says, “Does your brother live around here too?”

Dean freezes, icy panic gripping him. Letting Cas in on some inconsequential details about Dean’s life is one thing, but dragging Sam and Eileen into it is something totally different. “I don’t need you spilling my personal life all over the tabloids after this is over, dude,” he snaps. “Leave my family out of it.”

Wesson continues for another few yards before Dean realizes that he doesn’t hear the rustle of Jericho moving through the brush behind him. He stops and turns to see Cas watching him with a hurt expression. “I wouldn’t do that, Dean. I was just trying to get to know you better. I thought that’s what this trip was all about?”

Something about the slight waver in Cas’ voice makes Dean want to apologize and offer to tell the other man anything he wants to know. The desire to be seen for himself, not for Ty Carter, aches in his chest. That’s how you get taken advantage of, Dean reminds himself. The reporter who had shared the photos of him and Aaron said he was just trying to get to know Dean better too. After all, this trip wasn’t about getting to know Dean better, it was about Cas proving that Dean is a fraud. When he turns back around without acknowledging Cas’ words and nudges Wesson forward, the slow, steady cadence of Jericho’s steps follows. Dean tries not to feel guilty.

They ride back to camp in silence, whatever camaraderie they’d established effectively destroyed. Cas takes care of the horses while Dean hikes over the ridge by himself to catch dinner. It doesn’t take him long to hook a decent sized bass and two smaller crappies, but he lingers, his stomach a knot of discomfort. The entrenched desire to protect himself and his family wars with a newer, more uncertain need to be known by Cas. Despite his fear, dropping his guard and letting Cas really get to know him seems more and more appealing. It’s not something Dean has a lot of practice with.

His thoughts still unsettled, and no closer to making up his mind about Cas, Dean heads back over the hill to the campsite. Cas takes the catch without comment and cleans it while Dean sets up the wire grate over the fire. They work well together despite the tension between them and Cas thanks him graciously, though a little stiltedly, when Dean offers him a plate. They eat without looking at each other and when he’s finished, Dean sets his plate on the rock next to him. He’s still not sure about Cas, but he’s not a fan of letting fear control him either, so he clears his throat awkwardly and offers, “My brother and sister-in-law live up in Kadoka.”

Cas glances up, his surprise showing on his face. After a beat of drawn-out silence, he relaxes his shoulders and nods. “My brother lives in Atlanta, but my parents are still in Houston,” he says as if in trade. “I haven’t spoken to any of them in almost ten years, though. They don’t approve of my lifestyle.” His harsh laugh is ugly.

“Your lifestyle? You’re gay?” Dean asks before he can censor himself. He winces and claps one hand over his face. “I mean, fuck, that was rude. You don’t have to answer that.”

Cas’ laugh is lighter and he smiles for the first time since they left the gorge. “Well, I am,” he says easily, “but that’s not what I meant. I joined the Peace Corps right out of college instead of going into the family business, and they couldn’t understand why I’d trade my BMW and a condo in Afton Oaks for a horse and a mud shack in the Kyrgyz Republic. My ideology has always been more of a disappointment to them than my sexuality.”

Dean clenches his jaw against the unnatural desire to share, then says the hell with it and offers, “That sucks, man. I can’t imagine not talkin’ to Sammy for ten years. The kid is like a thorn in my side, but I’d go crazy without him around.” Cas flicks his eyes up to Dean’s when he says Sam’s name, but he doesn’t comment, so Dean powers on. “My parents died before I could come out to them, but the rest of my family never had a problem with it. I think they’re more embarrassed that their friends in Sioux Falls ask them for my autograph than they are that I’m queer.” A flutter of anxiety settles in Dean’s chest, but it’s only half born out of admitting more personal information to Cas than he’s ever shared before. The other part is that terror that he always feels when he thinks about the night his parents died. He ruthlessly shoves it away and forces himself to look up at Cas, who is looking at him questioningly.

“I thought you said you grew up here?”

Now that he’s started, the truth comes out more easily, though it still tastes like dust in his mouth. “I did,” he says, then swallows hard before he continues, “until I was 15, then me and Sam moved to Sioux Falls with a family friend.” He’s not sure how much more to share. The words dry up in his throat before he can force them out.

Cas purses his lips and looks like he wants to ask more, but something in Dean’s eyes must tell him that Dean is at his limit. If the way his heart is racing in his chest is visible on his face, he must look like he’s about to pass out. Cas just nods and they lapse into silence. What felt awkward just moments before now has an underlying current of easy companionship.

Dean extends his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and tips his head back to study the blanket of stars overhead. The moon is bright, nearly full, so they don’t bother to move even when the fire burns down to embers. Night insects skitter and chirp and the low rustle of the horses moving layers over the dull wash of the river from the other side of the ridge. Eventually, Dean’s heart slows in response to the peacefulness, and the tranquility of the night soothes him. It feels like both an eternity and just seconds until Cas clears his throat and stands, and Dean pushes down an unreasonable flare of disappointment. There is a strange yearning in his chest, a desire for closeness that leaves him hollowed out.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas murmurs huskily. His eyes catch on Dean’s face like there is more he wants to say, then he ducks his head and walks toward his tent. He passes by close enough to touch and Dean curls his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out.

Dean watches him go, trying not to be snared by the loose-limbed stride or the way he murmurs soft words of comfort to the horses as he passes. When they set out to the campsite, Dean couldn’t imagine spending six days with Cas. Now, they’re three days in and he can’t imagine that another three days will be anywhere near enough.

He lingers for a while longer before finding his own tent. Zipped inside, the world narrows into a canvas cocoon. Dean sets up the digital recorder, runs a hand through his hair, and presses record. “Ah, day three. We’re doin’ pretty good, I think. My charm must be workin’ ‘cause we haven’t killed each other yet.” Dean purses his lips and looks away for a moment before his eyes find the blinking red dot again. “He isn’t too bad, Cas I mean. He’s pretty good out here and a lot easier to be around than I was expecting. I guess there’s hope for us makin’ friends or something yet.”

**********************

After another satisfying meal of fish and baked potatoes, Cas rinses the lunch plates in the lake and stacks them back with the other cooking utensils in the pack by the fire pit. Dean leans against the large boulder next to it, his long legs stretched out in front of him and the small spiral bound book Cas hasn’t seen since the second day resting on his lap. When Cas approached, he quickly shut the book, but he hadn’t hidden it like before. Whether it was intended as an invitation or not, Cas chooses to treat it like one.

“Do you journal?” he asks, tipping his chin toward the book. Although Dean is certainly intelligent, he doesn’t really strike Cas as the writing type.

With a small blush, Dean ducks his head before shaking it. “Not much of a writer,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes averted. “Sammy’s the smart one, good with words and stuff. I’m better just lookin’ pretty.”

Cas frowns. “I’m sure that’s not true, Dean. You obviously know what you’re doing out here and you’d have to be smart to memorize the lines for your films. Keeping hours’ worth of dialogue straight can’t be easy.”

Dean shrugs, eyes flicking up to Cas then away across the prairie as if he’s self-conscious. “I guess. I mean, it’s hard sometimes, especially when we film out of order, but it’s not like I have to memorize the whole script at once. We only shoot a couple pages a day.”

“Still, I think it’s more than I’d be able to do.” In almost complete contrast to the vicious insults he’s always used when talking about Dean, Cas suddenly finds himself wanting to defend the man. It makes Cas’ chest hurt to know that Dean thinks so little of himself. He looks down at the tablet again. “So if you’re not a writer, what’s in the book?”

Picking up the book, Dean turns it over in his hands a few times before holding it out to Cas. “You gotta promise not to laugh, though. They’re not that good. It’s just something I fiddle with in my spare time. Keeps me from losing my shit on set sometimes.”

Cas doesn’t promise not to laugh because it’s a given. He would never make fun of something that obviously means so much to Dean. He orients the book upright and opens to the first page. It’s a line sketch of the horses tied to the picket line. He flips through the pages, scene after scene from their trip. The lake, the gorge, a jackrabbit under a scrub brush, the mountains in the distance. It isn’t until he turns the page and sees his own image sitting next to the fire pit that he looks up at Dean, who had been watching him almost anxiously. As soon as Cas looks up, Dean looks away.

“These are beautiful, Dean,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t know you could draw like this.” It's not flattery. Although the sketches are rough, simple in their execution, the images powerfully capture the raw beauty of the grasslands.

Dean meets his eyes with apprehension. “You think so? I’ve never taken classes or anything. I just like to remember things, y’know? Me and Sam didn’t have a lot of pictures when we were growin’ up, so I used to draw what I could remember.”

Cas wants to ask why there were no pictures, but Dean has made it more than clear that he doesn’t welcome questions about his past or his family. Where he might have pressed at one time, the thought of upsetting Dean stops him. Instead, Cas closes the book and hands it back. “I mean it. They’re really good. I couldn’t draw two stick figures, let alone something like this. You’re very talented.”

Even though Dean ducks his head again to slip the book into the inside pocket of his jacket, Cas catches his small smile of pleasure. Only a ghost of the smile remains when he looks up. “Thanks, man. I don’t show them to a lot of people. Just Sammy and Eileen, Charlie, couple other people.”

Warmth spreads through Cas’ chest. “Well, I really appreciate you sharing them with me. No one has drawn my picture in a long time, not since I was overseas.”

Dean’s lips twitch into a smile again. “I thought you might be mad that I drew you without permission. A lot of people don’t like that.”

“I don’t mind, really. There was a girl when I was in the Kyrgyz Republic who would draw us all the time. She was only fourteen, but she was amazingly talented.”

“Gotta admit, I don’t know where that is,” Dean says with a small laugh. “I’ve been a lot of places, but I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Not a lot of people have. It was part of the Soviet Union until it disbanded in 1991.”

“All those countries sound the same to me,” Dean replies, sitting up straighter and pulling his knees up to his chest to make room when Cas lowers himself to grass next to him. “Long words I can’t pronounce with lots of Y’s and Z’s.”

Cas chuckles. “That’s somewhat true. It’s one of the smaller countries to break away from the U.S.S.R., mostly rural with a large population living in poverty.”

“And you lived there? In a mud shack, you said?”

Shooting Dean an amused look, Cas crosses his legs and leans back on his hands. “A little dramatic of me, I’ll admit. It wasn’t quite that bad. The family I stayed with had a small house, but it was very simple. Only three rooms, no electricity, but it was sturdy.”

Dean looks intrigued when he asks, “How long were you there?”

“Two years. I worked on a couple of economic and environmental projects, sustainable crops and employment for the women in in the village, things like that.”

“Wow,” Dean breathes, eyes wide. “That’s awesome. I mean, I’ve never done anything like that. What happened to the girl? The one who drew your picture? Did you keep in touch?”

A sharp bolt of pain arrows through Cas’ chest, but he swallows it down. “I’ve exchanged letters with her family over the years, but she passed away during the winter of my second year there.” He pulls out his wallet and withdraws a faded, wrinkled picture of a thin, pretty girl with long black hair and wide eyes, passing it to Dean. She’s smiling in the picture, glowing with the vitality of youth that never seems like it will burn out. Cas’ heart clenches when he remembers the way that vitality drained out of her.

Dean looks at the picture for a long time, his fingers gently tracing over the image. His eyes are dark when he looks up. “What happened?”

“She had pneumonia. The medical convoy was due to come through the day before she died, but they were caught by a storm in the mountains so they didn’t show up until a few hours after she passed. I don’t know if they could have saved her or not. She’d been sick for over a week and there was no medicine left in the village.” Cas stops and swallows hard, closing his eyes as he remembers the way he’d cradled her thin body in his lap while her mother held her hand and cried. His voice breaks when he adds, “We did everything we could.”

 A firm hand on his shoulder makes him look up. Dean leans forward intently, the picture held out to him. “I’m sure you did, Cas. Sometimes everything you can do just isn’t enough.”

Cas swallows down the tears and gives a watery smile, taking the picture and tucking it away. “Something good came out of it, I guess. I met my best friend, Will, that day. He was part of the medical convoy. He’d only been in the country for a few weeks and was staying with a family in the next village over. I took it upon myself to show the new kid the ropes. I guess it stuck because we both live up in Pierre now.” He gives Dean another smile, this one clearer. “He’s a fan of yours.”

Dean chuckles. “That must really burn you up.”

It feels weird that they can joke about what felt like hatred just a few days ago. “We may have exchanged some words. He was more than a little irritated that all it took to meet you was being an asshole.”

Shaking his head, Dean pushes himself to his feet and reaches out a hand to help Cas up. “I guess everyone’s got their weakness. Mine is that I’m partial to assholes.”

They spend the rest of the day hanging out around the campsite and exchanging amusing stories about their travels, staying away from heavier topics. With Dean being more openly friendly, Cas finds that he likes the other man even more than he’d already discovered. He has none of the cocky swagger or conceit that is stereotypical of celebrities. Instead, he’s down to earth, kind, and funny, and the tense, rigid posture of the first few days has faded into a more relaxed bearing. They still haven’t talked about Dean’s movies or the environmental issues that seemed so important just a few days ago, but Cas is loath to bring it up and spoil the mood.

Even after a lazy day around the campsite, Cas still feels sticky with sweat and dust by the evening. The moon is full over the lake and even though it’s full dark, there’s enough light that carrying the pot of water back to the fire pit from the lake is easy. Though there is a chill in the evening air, Cas still likes to heat up some water to wash himself down every night. It isn’t as efficient as bathing in the lake like Dean does, but Cas can’t quite bring himself to go there. He hasn’t seen Dean washing himself since the first time, but he comes back at least once a day with water dripping in his eyes. Whether it’s the frigid temperature of the water or the vision in his head of Dean’s naked body in the sun, the thought of stripping down in the lake is more than Cas can take.

He sets the pot on the grate and spreads his washcloth on the boulder next to him just as Dean wanders over from the horses. “We should go swimming,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye.

Cas gives him a side-eyed look. “It’s the middle of the night and the lake is freezing.”

Dean laughs and pushes Cas’ shoulder amicably. “There’s a pond about a fifteen-minute hike from here that is fed by a hot spring. It won’t be sauna temperature this time of year, but it’ll definitely warm enough to be comfortable even this late at night.”

The thought of actually being able to dunk his head under water is enough to make Cas agree. Cas grabs a set of clean clothes and shoves them into one of his packs, but Dean is empty handed when they leave camp. They’re only a few minutes outside of camp when Dean gives Cas a look he can’t quite read and says, “I learned to swim in this pond. My dad thought it would be funny to throw me in when I was four. Sammy was just a baby and I remember mom sitting on the bank reading dad the riot act, but I was laughing like crazy.”

Cas tries to imagines a carefree child-Dean and fails. An air of melancholy hangs over the man in a way that makes Cas wonder if he’s ever really been that happy. Questions about his family itch on the tip of Cas’ tongue, but he swallows them down, afraid of spooking Dean when he’s just starting to open up. “I learned to swim with an instructor in our indoor heated pool,” he says instead.

Dean cocks one eyebrow but doesn’t respond. Everything Cas thought he knew about Dean is turning out to be false, right down to the differences in their upbringings. Where he had accused Dean of being a sham, it is actually Cas who had grown up with privilege. The more he learns, the more he’s beginning to see that there is actually very little about Dean’s persona that is fake. They’re both silent the rest of the journey.

The pond is smaller than Cas was expecting, only about fifteen feet across, but the water is warm when he dips his hand in it. He sits on the bank and takes his boots off, then strips down to his boxers. He can change into his clean clothes when they get out and wring out the wet underwear to carry back to camp. Beside him, Dean pulls his t-shirt and pants off, then begins to shimmy his underwear down his hips. “What are you doing?” Cas snaps, heat flooding his face.

Dean gives him a small, cocky smirk. “I’m not lugging wet underwear back to camp and I sure as hell ain’t goin’ commando in those jeans, Cas. There’s no one around here to see us anyway.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband again and Cas quickly looks away. His resolve only lasts a moment, though, and he turns back around soon enough to see Dean sprint into the pond, his bare body glinting in the moonlight. His toned ass, powerful thighs, and muscular back leave Cas’ mouth dry. Cas takes a deep breath and hooks his fingers into his own waistband. When in Rome, as they say.

Dean throws himself under the surface and Cas quickly strips and wades in before Dean can resurface. He’s not shy about his body, but the thought of being naked with Dean sends a little shock of desire coursing through him. It’s silly, really, because nothing is going to happen between them, but he can’t deny that Dean is incredibly attractive. So attractive, in fact, that it’s impossible that he’s not seeing anyone. Cas thinks of Will but pushes away the stab of guilt he always feels when he thinks about being with someone else. He might not feel about Will the way Will seems to want him to, but that doesn’t mean he likes the thought of hurting him.

Although the pond isn’t wide, the deepest point doesn’t let Cas touch the silty bottom with his head above water. They swim for a while, and Cas alternately treads water and dives under before surfacing to push wet hair out of his face. The water is just slightly cooler than he likes his bathwater, and he lets his head tip back so that he’s floating. The moon is a wide, white orb above them and he’s so mesmerized by it that he doesn’t notice Dean float up beside him until he’s sinking under the water, Dean’s hands on his shoulder.

He comes up sputtering indignantly and immediately lunges for the other man, but Dean swims away easily. “Oh, it’s on,” Cas calls playfully, and dives under the water in pursuit. Dean is fast and graceful under the water, and although Cas isn’t as good a swimmer, he makes up for it in commitment. The dark silkiness of the water is disorienting and every time Cas resurfaces he has to look around to find Dean again.

Resurfacing behind Dean in the shadows, he slides his hands around Dean’s waist and lets himself sink to pull him under. Dean, though, kicks his legs at the same time, driving his body back until he’s pressed against Cas’ naked chest, his ass nestled tight against Cas’, thankfully, soft dick. A shock of desire punches through him and if Dean continues to squirm like that, he won’t be soft for long.

Cas releases him so quickly that Dean sinks like a rock. He turns to swim toward the shore, mortified by his body’s reaction. The last thing he needs is Dean thinking that he came on this trip just for a chance to sleep with him. He’s already out of the water and pulling his underwear up his legs, the material sticking to his wet skin, when Dean resurfaces and orients himself enough to see Cas on the shore.

Dean treads water for a few moments, brows drawn together as he watches Cas step into his sweatpants and pull a hoodie over his head, then swims toward shore. Cas turns his back before the water dips below his bellybutton.

“I guess we should be getting back anyway,” Dean says with an odd hitch in his voice. Cas focuses on lacing up his boots, doing his best to ignore Dean as he dries himself off with his shirt and then pulls on his clothes. He follows Dean wordlessly as he leads the way back to camp, unsure how to break the awkwardness.

They’ve only gone a short way when Dean clears his throat. “I didn’t mean any disrespect,” he says softly, not stopping to look back at Cas.

Embarrassment at overreacting colors Cas’ voice, making it sharper than he intended when he responds. “I didn’t come on this trip to sleep with a celebrity, Dean.”

Dean stops so suddenly that Cas almost crashes into him. He grabs Cas’ arms. “I didn't think that. I swear, man,” he insists, a light blush tinging his cheeks, visible even in the moonlight. He ducks his head, then looks up with a wry smile. “I mean, you’re hot, okay? I’m not gonna lie, but I wasn’t trying to get anywhere. I used to skinny dip with Sammy and my friends all the time. There was never anything sexual about it.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Cas nods, even more humiliated at his melodramatic reaction. They walk in silence for a while, but the question circling in his head won’t let him alone. Looking up from the trail to the back of Dean’s head, he blurts it out before he can stop himself. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Dean pauses and glances at him sharply then shakes his head before starting forward again. “No, not seriously. I mean, there’s a guy I mess around with sometimes, Cole, but it isn’t like that. We’ve known each other forever, but we’re just friends.”

Cas swallows hard. “That’s the way things are with Will as well,” he offers. “I mean, we’re not serious. I’m not seeing anyone either.” He clamps his teeth shut to stop the babbling.

Dean doesn’t look at him when he says, “So if we were interested, there wouldn’t be anything standing in our way?”

“Yes,” Cas responds past the lump in his throat. “If we were interested.”

Dean’s _goodnight_ is stilted, but Cas returns it sincerely before crawling into his own tent. He pulls out the recorder and sets it up, running his hands through his hair in an unsuccessful attempt to tame it. Now that it has dried in spiky waves, nothing short of another dunking will help. He gives up and presses record. “Day four. We’ll be going home soon. I’m not really sure anymore what I came out here to prove. It’s clear that Dean isn’t who I thought he was, but I’m not really sure I am either. Growing up, I watched my family judge people for having less, as if that meant they _were_ less. I never wanted to be that kind of person, but this whole experience has shown me that I haven’t done a very good job of distancing myself from that way of thinking. I made up my mind about Dean based on how the media portrayed him, without considering that it might not be the reality.”

He stops, unsure what else to say without sounding maudlin. Everything he might say strikes him as too insubstantial, though, so he settles on, “I’m grateful that I had this chance to be proven wrong.” He switches the recorder off and turns it over in his hands a few times, wishing he had the guts to say what he’s really thinking. He’d say that he wants to get to know Dean better, that he can see something behind Dean’s eyes that causes him pain and that he wants to figure out a way to ease it.


	6. Chapter 6

It hardly seems possible that five days have passed. Today hasn't been as awkward as Dean feared it would be after the way they left things last night, but there’s a new tension between them that has nothing to do with the feud that triggered this trip. On the surface, nothing has changed. They chit-chat as they hike over to the river to fish for lunch and Dean sketches while Cas cleans and cooks the crappie. Afterward, they brush the horses and take a leisurely ride north from the campsite, Dean pointing out interesting features of the landscape and Cas asking questions about the local wildlife to fill the silence.

It’s all very companionable and if someone were watching, that is surely all they’d see. The difference, though, is in the current of energy arcing under Dean’s skin that makes him hyper-aware of Cas’ presence. No matter what they’re doing, he catches himself watching Cas from a distance, his eyes greedily following him as if he’s trying to memorize every line of Cas’ features. At the same time, he would swear that he feels Cas’ eyes on him whenever he thinks Dean isn’t paying attention. He’s not quite sure if it’s real or just wishful thinking.

Tomorrow they’ll be packing up to ride back to the meeting point and this will all be over. They’ll see each other at the interview in a week, but it won’t be the same. It’s a thought that leaves Dean more than a little depressed. In his years as an actor, Dean has met hundreds, if not thousands, of people. He’s worked with them, partied with them, and even dated a few when he found someone he felt he could trust, but he’s never been this comfortable with someone that he hasn’t known his whole life. Tomorrow, they’ll go their separate ways and he’ll lose that comfort without ever seeing where it might take them.

It’s ridiculous because Dean isn’t even sure that Cas likes him as a person. He is pretty sure that Cas is attracted to him, but he’s learned over the years that physical attraction doesn’t mean anything. They haven’t talked about Cas’ comments or his movies at all, even though that was ostensibly why they came out here, and Cas’ friendliness could all be an act. For all Dean knows, Cas is still planning to tell the world that Dean is selfish and money hungry and that he doesn’t care if he hurts that environment with his movies like he promised he would when this all started. The thought hurts more than Dean would like to admit.

By the time dinner is over, Dean has worried himself into a migraine. He presses his fingers into his temples, but it does nothing to help the pain. Halos of color appear around the fire when he looks at it, sparking another throb of agony and triggering the sick churning of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He retreats to his tent to take some pills, but the dull ache is still present when he rejoins Cas at the fire a little while later. Dean has never been able to think straight when his head is pounding and his building anxiety at their impending departure isn’t helping, so he isn’t really surprised when he hears himself ask, “Why me?”

Cas turns toward him from the other side of the fire and Dean squints against the pain the light sends shooting through his head. “What?”

“Why me?” Dean repeats, hating the little tug of distress that makes his voice crack at the end. “I mean, of all the people in the world, why did you decide to drag me through the mud? I can name a hundred people who are way bigger assholes than I am, but you settled on me.”

A flicker of emotion passes over Cas’ face before he answers. “I honestly don’t know,” he says with a sigh, spreading his hands out in front of him. “I guess that’s a shit answer but it’s the truth. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He stops and runs one hand through his hair before pressing it to the back of his neck. His voice is rough when he continues. “I’ve worked my entire adult life to counteract the damage my family’s business has done to the environment, to live the kind of life that makes up, at least a little, for being part of that legacy. When I saw you on TV and read about the accident in Genesee, you just seemed like another person like my family. Another asshole exploiting the land that I love without caring about it at all, or at least it seemed that way. It pissed me off and I just wanted to lash out and provide a point.” He pauses, his eyes searching Dean’s face. “I realize that I was wrong.”

“I got him fired,” Dean says softly. At Cas’ confused look, he elaborates, “The pilot that was involved in the stampede that killed those buffalo. He was joking about it the next day, telling the story over and over like he thought it was funny. I was so pissed that I went straight to the producer and said that if they didn’t get a new pilot, I would have my lawyer look into severing my contract. We both knew I was bluffing, but they let him go anyway, even though the union kicked up a holy fit about it.”

Cas winces, rolling in his bottom lip to chew on it before responding, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a bitter laugh, “that part doesn’t make such good press.” There’s a lot of Dean’s life that wouldn’t make good press. Dean reaches up and rubs his fingertips over his temples to try to ease the pain a little.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I was wrong about you,” Cas murmurs, his eyes dark in the shifting shadows of the firelight. He studies Dean intently for a moment, then adds, “You look like you’re in pain.”

“A Migraine,” Dean acknowledges with a grimace. “Been getting them since I was a kid.”

Cas stands, then hesitates for a moment before walking over to where Dean is sitting. His hands hover above Dean’s head for a moment before he whispers, “Can I touch you?”

The soft words wash over Dean, leaving him almost breathless with how much he wants that. He swallows hard and nods, leaning into Cas’ first tentative touch like he’s been starving for it. Cas’ hands are gentle, but the firm pressure feels amazing. He alternately massages and runs light fingers through Dean’s hair, occasionally gripping the strands enough to pull, before releasing to scratch down his scalp with blunt fingernails. When Dean lets out a soft whimper, Cas drops his hands to Dean’s shoulders, digging his fingertips into the tense muscles around his neck and at the base of his skull, before running them back up to start the whole process over again.

Dizzy on the feeling, Dean closes his eyes and lets himself relax until Cas is supporting his weight with his body. The tangy smell of smoke, the night insects singing in the brush around camp, and Cas’ heat at his back soothe him, triggering memories that Dean doesn’t often let himself recall. Almost drunk with it, Dean starts talking without censoring himself. “I don't tell people that I’m from South Dakota because I don’t want anyone dredging up my family’s past.” Cas’ hands still for a moment, then he resumes the gentle massage without speaking, so Dean continues. “We’re actually camping on the corner of three thousand acres that has been in my mother’s family for generations.”

“I wondered,” Cas admits softly, still running light hands over Dean’s scalp. “You said you’d grown up hiking this land, you obviously spent a lot of time here to know it so well.”

Dean nods, the motion causing only a little pain. “This property has belonged to the Campbells since 1862.” He tilts his head back far enough to look up at Cas’ face. He hasn’t told this story in so long and he needs to see Cas’ face when he says it. “My mother was Mary Campbell Winchester.”

There’s a moment when Cas still doesn’t get it. Dean can tell from the confusion on his face. Then, his eyes go wide and he gasps. “Your father was John Winchester.”

A cold frisson of fear lances through Dean. Cas knows now and it’s too late to take it back. Dean has just handed him all the ammunition he needs to destroy Dean’s carefully crafted peace. He grabs Cas’ hand and pulls him down to sit on the stone next to him. “So you know the story,” he says, voice as devoid of emotion as he can make it.

Cas nods without looking away. “It’s a pretty famous story.” He reaches one hand out like he wants to touch Dean again, then curls it into a fist before dropping it into his own lap. “I caught the segment on _Forensic Files_ when I first moved here.”

Dean laughs wryly. “Yeah, no kidding. The true crime shows love us. Two local boys uprooted after their father goes mental and tries to kill his entire family. Bobby, that’s the friend who raised us after, finally filed an injunction to keep them away from us.”

“The show said that your father was convinced you were all possessed by demons,” Cas says, swallowing hard.

Dean closes his eyes and nods again. He can see his mom’s face, plain as the last time he saw her, and hear the crackling of the fire she’d built in the old hearth in the living room. If he breathes just deeply enough, he can even smell her perfume. “He was a good man,” he says without opening his eyes. “I know that sounds nuts, all considering, but he was. He was a good father when I was a kid. The older I got, though, the more erratic he got. At first, the delusions and hallucinations were manageable. Mom drove him up to the doctor in Kadoka every month and he took his meds. We knew he was sick, but there were more good days than bad back then.” Dean stops to clear his throat and startles when Cas’ hand closes over his. He opens his eyes and sees that Cas is holding out one of the canteens. He takes a long swallow before he continues.

“When dad got worse, Bobby tried to help but mom refused to have him committed. She never thought he’d hurt us. He loved us, loved my mom, more than anything. I’ve never doubted that. He was trying to save us.” His voice goes tight again. It’s been twenty years since he’s told this story, the last time was to Cole, but the grief feels just as fresh as the day it happened. Cas grips his hands tight between his own and doesn’t let go.

“Me and Sammy and mom were in the living room watching TV when dad came in with this old Colt revolver his dad left him after the war,” Dean continues. He’s shivering now, but he barely feels it when Cas pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around him. “He was ranting and raving about demons, chanting some mumbo jumbo in what sounded Latin, and flicking salt water on us. Sammy was only eleven and he started crying when dad started talking about purifying us, saying how only this special gun could kill the demons in us.”

Dean takes another swig of the canteen and clears his throat before looking up at Cas, who nods encouragingly. “You don’t have to tell me, Dean. I’ll listen if you want to,” he says, “but you don’t have to say it.”

Dean coughs and presses his face to Cas’ chest, then continues as if Cas hadn’t spoken. Now that he has started, the words flow like a dam that has busted open and is flooding everything in its path. “Mom hit him with a lamp and started screaming at us to run. Sammy didn’t want to go. He was crying so hard it was like draggin’ an anchor, but I got him out of the house and we ran. I wasn’t sure what we should do, so I just headed toward the main road. Straight shot across the hills it’s almost two miles, but with Sammy crying and stumbling around in the dark, it took us almost two hours to get there and flag someone down. They didn’t have a cell phone, so they drove us up to the police station in Kadoka and we stayed there, drinkin’ hot chocolate and reading comic books until two cops and a social worker came and told us our parents were dead.”

Dean’s chest hurts when he sucks in a long, wheezing breath and Cas’ arms tighten a little more. “I’m so sorry, Dean,” he mumbles into Dean’s hair.

Something wet hits the top of Dean’s ear and he realizes that Cas is crying. The awareness breaks something loose in Dean and the tears he’s been holding back overflow as he finishes the story in a rush. “He shot her, Cas, point-blank range in the forehead, then shot himself. They wouldn’t let us see the bodies, closed caskets at the funeral, so that’s always gonna be the last time I saw them. Mom screaming at me and Sammy to run and dad waving that gun around.” Dean reaches up and angrily scrubs the tears off his cheeks. “Fuck, I shoulda done somethin’. I was almost as tall as Dad by then. Even though he probably had fifty pounds on me, I coulda stopped him.”

“Dean,” Cas grates out, his voice raw. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Dean’s bark of laughter is an ugly, wet sound. “Nothing anyone could have done, they said. If we’d stayed, he’d have killed us too. Took a lot of years and a lot of side eyes from Bobby before I stopped sayin’ I wished he had.” He stops and when Cas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer a shocked gasp or some empty consolation, he continues. “Anyway, they bundled us off to Sioux Falls, where most people didn’t know our names. It was all over the news for months and every couple of years one of those crime shows would drag it back up, but eventually people just forgot. We lived our lives. I met Cole, came out to Bobby and Ellen, and finished high school. School plays turned into community theater and acting camps, and then a talent scout signed me to an agent and the rest you can read on my IMDB.”

Cas sniffles and raises one hand to wipe at his face, but he keeps the other tight around Dean, who is too wrung out to protest. He feels raw inside, like someone peeled him open, scooped his guts out into a blender, then stuffed them back inside. When Cas’ other arm comes back around him, letting Cas hold him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Shutting everything out, the fear, the grief, and the loneliness, Dean buries his face in Cas’ chest and breathes deeply, as if filling his lungs with Cas’ scent will let him hold on to this feeling and keep tomorrow from coming.

It can’t last, though. It never does. Long before Dean is ready to let go, Cas loosens his hold and leans away. Dean is terrified to meet his eyes for fear of what he’ll see there. “So,” he says, trying for flippant but missing the mark entirely. “Now you know my secret. Pretty much every tabloid in the world would pay big bucks to buy that story and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop you from telling it. You could be rich by next weekend.”

Cas places a gentle hand on Dean’s cheek and turns him so they’re eye to eye. The firelight dances in Cas’ eyes, the reflection watery with tears. “I would never betray you like that, Dean,” he says roughly, leaning forward to press his forehead to Dean’s. The gesture feels intimate, like something two lovers would do, and it triggers a shivery feeling in Dean’s chest. “I promise,” Cas whispers as if he’s unaware of the flurry of need his actions sparked. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He’s so close that it would take almost nothing for Dean to lean forward and cover Cas' mouth with his own. It would be easy. He’s seduced people before and he has no doubt that he could convince Cas, if only for the night. He could hold on to this feeling for a little while longer.

Cas isn’t like that, though. Although he may have changed his mind about Dean’s disregard for the environment, that doesn’t mean that he’s interested in falling into bed with a celebrity. He’s made his stance on the subject clear and the last thing Dean wants is to trade on Cas’ sympathy. A night of pleasure wouldn’t ease the emptiness inside of Dean, but it might change Cas’ mind about him being a decent person. He doesn’t want to be something Cas regrets. Pulling away from Cas until he drops his arms is a physical pain that aches throughout Dean’s body.

“We’ve got a long ride back tomorrow,” he says, ducking his head so that he doesn’t have to look at Cas. His words sound harsh and overly loud in the silence, but he can’t take them back. “We should probably get to sleep.”

There’s a long pause before Cas answers, and the sadness in his voice makes Dean’s head snap up against his will. His expression radiates confusion, but he just nods when Dean looks his way. “Of course, you’re right.” He pushes himself up stiffly and tilts his head to one side as he studies Dean for a beat too long. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t watch him walk to his tent, afraid that he might break down and call Cas back. Instead, he covers the coals, checks on the horses one last time, and zippers himself into his tent so that he can’t rush after Cas and damn the consequences. The digital recorder is peeking out of one side of his pack, mocking him, and the last thing he wants to do after that clusterfuck is show his face on camera. If he thought Charlie wouldn’t kick his ass seven ways to Sunday, he’d just skip it, but he knows better.

He sets up the recorder and presses the button, trying to ignore the thought that he probably looks like he’s been crying. “Last night. We’ll be headed home tomorrow. I have no idea what conclusion Cas has come to, but I’d like to think that at the end of this, I made a friend at least. There’s a lot of things I want that I’ve always told myself I could never have, so it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I could really talk to, that I felt comfortable opening up to. It feels nice.” He sighs and looks away from the camera, hiding whatever longing might be showing in his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see what next week brings. See you all in a week for our exclusive interview.”

After turning off the recorder, Dean tosses it into the bag. He’s come to hate the thing even more than he thought he would, if only because it makes him think about Cas when he’d rather be ignoring the whole situation. He pulls on sweatpants, climbs into his sleeping bag, and tells himself that it doesn’t matter what he thinks he wants. Tomorrow, this whole publicity stunt is over.

*********************

Sleep is elusive. No matter which way Cas turns, no matter how he curls his body, he just can’t get comfortable. There are so many things he wants to say to Dean, how much he admires him and how brave he is, but the words have been lodged in his throat for hours. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Dean’s tear-stained face and feels the solid weight of the other man in his arms. Though his heart was breaking, the connection felt incredibly right. If Dean had allowed it, he would have held on all night.

That isn’t what Dean wants, though, and Cas knows it. Dean has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t trust Cas. Why should he, after all? This trip happened because Cas set out to humiliate him in front of all of his fans. Although he knows now that everything he thought he knew about Dean is wrong, there’s no reason for Dean to believe he has changed. Like he said in his final video entry, he may regret the damage he has done, but no matter how sorry he is for jumping to conclusions, he wouldn’t take it back. His misguided comments gave him this opportunity to meet Dean and that’s something he would never want to have missed.

Cas sighs and rolls over again, shoving his arm up under the pack he’s using as a pillow. As soon as they get up in the morning, they’ll be breaking camp and starting the long ride back to the meetup point. Once they part ways, they won’t see each other again until the interview in a week, and then this will all be behind them. Whatever closeness they’ve shared will be in the past. Although he would like to keep in touch with Dean, he's fairly certain that Dean wants nothing more than to get away from him. The way he shut down in reaction to his breakdown tonight had made that clear. Dean doesn’t seem like the type to be comfortable with vulnerability, and opening up to Cas about his family had left him exposed.

A sharp crack of thunder sounds almost overhead and Cas jumps, breath catching in his throat. Within moments, the sound of rain washes across the prairie and there are only seconds before the downpour is drumming on the side of the tent. When he checked the weather last weekend there hadn’t been any rain in the forecast, but it isn’t uncommon for a popup storm to hit, especially in the spring.

Snuggling deeper into his sleeping bag, Cas listens to the heavy patter of rain as it sweeps across the tent. He’s always enjoyed listening to the almost musical cadence of a storm, even when he was a child. Another rumble of thunder echoes and Cas hears the horses whinnying from the other side of camp. He’s contemplating throwing on his poncho and going to check on them when he feels something cold and wet against his hip. He sits up and grabs the flashlight from beside him, shining it toward the side of the tent.

A steady stream of water is flowing down the seam closest to him, puddling under the sleeping bag and soaking through his clothes. “Fuck,” Cas curses loudly. At the rate the water is coming in, there’s no way everything in the tent won’t be soaked within minutes. He quickly shimmies out of the sleeping bag and tosses everything that isn’t wet already into his packs, sticking the lit flashlight in the side pocket like a lantern. Shoving his feet into his boots, he quickly unzips the tent, hikes both bags onto his shoulders, and sprints the half dozen yards to Dean’s tent. He’s inside and zipping it behind himself before Dean is even fully awake.

“Cas?” Dean mumbles groggily, peering at him in the shadows cast by the flashlight. “What the hell are you doing?” Before Cas can answer, there’s another crack of thunder immediately followed by a flash a lightning that lights up the interior of the tent. Cas shivers as the cold rain drips from his hair, down his back. Dean’s eyes widen as he takes in Cas’ condition. “Aw, fuck, you’re soaked. What the hell happened?”

“My tent is leaking,” Cas explains testily as another shiver moves through him. He isn’t quite cold enough for his teeth to chatter, but the moisture is rapidly soaking through the layers of fabric, sapping his body heat.

Dean quickly shrugs out of the sleeping bag and starts to sort through the clothes in the duffel he had been using as a pillow. He pulls out a pair of sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt and hands them to Cas. “Get out of those wet clothes before you freeze. You’re gonna catch your death.”

Cas clutches the clothes to his chest for a long, uncomfortable moment, then quickly strips his wet shirt off and pulls Dean’s t-shirt over his head. The material smells like him, a faint musky scent that makes Cas’ heart skip. His pants are harder to get off because the wet fabric clings to his skin, but he manages to get them down without making too big of a fool of himself in the confines of the tent. He’s pulling the sweatpants on over his damp underwear when Dean coughs.

“Jesus man, just take them off. You can’t leave those wet underwear on. Your junk will get chafed.” He makes an exaggerated show of averting his eyes so that Cas can get undressed.

Cas lets out a bark of laughter, unable to help himself despite the awkwardness of the situation. “That would be a real tragedy,” he retorts dryly, then pulls the underwear off and tugs the sweats up his legs. When he looks up, Dean is no longer looking away. Instead, he’s watching Cas with something that looks enough like hunger that Cas’ breath catches in his throat.

For a long moment, neither of them move. Cas traces the contours of Dean’s face in the shadowy glow of the flashlight, from the soft sweep of his eyelashes to the perfect bow of his lips. He’s struck once again by how beautiful Dean is and his fingers itch to reach out and trace the curve of his jaw. He’s so intent on Dean’s face that he flinches when Dean clears his throat and looks away.

“Uh, it’ll be a tight fit, but we’re gonna have to double up here. It’s too cold for you to sleep without some kind of covers,” Dean says, unzipping the side of the sleeping bag and flicking it back.

Cas looks down at the sleeping bag then back at Dean’s face, but his gaze is carefully averted. The sleeping bag is on the spacious side, but it definitely isn’t made for two grown men to share. Once the bag is zipped, they’re going to be pressed together with no way to put space between their bodies. Cas’ heart rate picks up at the thought of being tucked into the bag with Dean, but he can’t see any way out of it. Even without the wet clothes sticking to him, the temperature has dropped enough that the air is chilly.

He crawls forward and slides into the sleeping bag. The confines of the fabric don’t leave enough room for them to lay on their backs, so he has to decide whether to face Dean or lay as if they’re spooning. Both seem far too intimate for the circumstances. Unable to tolerate the idea of facing Dean, Cas stays the way he is, his back pressed along Dean’s front. He tugs the zipper up before snapping the flashlight off and plunging the tent into darkness.

The minutes tick by with Cas breathing as shallowly as he can, eyes wide open in the darkness. He’s hyper-aware of the way his ass is cradled by Dean’s thighs and even though Dean is doing his best not to press against him, they’re touching in enough places that the heat from Dean’s body gradually seeps through Cas’ clothes, warming him. The sensation skirts that razor edge between pleasant and overwhelming.

As a few more seconds crawl by, Cas becomes aware that he’s trembling despite the heat from Dean’s body. He tenses his muscles and tries to move away, but Dean curses softly and lets out a soft huff of breath. “This is fucking stupid,” Dean mutters, then shifts so that his arm curves over Cas’ hip. “You’re freezing.” He curls into Cas’ body, pulling him back so that he’s pressed snugly to Dean’s chest. Cas imagines that he can feel Dean’s heart beating, but it might just be his own erratic pulse.

A warm puff of breath ghosts over the back of his neck and Cas closes his eyes, guiltily letting himself relax into the feel of Dean behind him. If this is all he gets with Dean, a few hours of quasi-intimacy, he’s going to take it. The thought burns like acid in his stomach. If he pretends, even for a moment, that this is real, that it could work between them, no one else needs to know. Where is the harm in the fantasy?

With Dean’s heat wrapped around him, the fine tremor eventually subsides and it doesn’t take long for Cas to get drowsy. Caught in that hazy moment between wakefulness and sleep, he imagines that he feels a hot, wet kiss against the skin just above his shirt collar. It feels like acceptance, like being welcomed home. He’s about to surrender to the dream when he feels it again, Dean’s lips soft and moist against him, nuzzling into the curve between his shoulder and neck.

He might have been able to ignore that, to imagine that Dean is already asleep and pass it off as unintentional, but there is no mistaking the possessive way Dean slides his hand lower. Slipping up under the t-shirt, his fingers splay across the hot skin of Cas’ stomach as he pulls Cas’ hips back. There is also no mistaking the hard, insistent swell of Dean’s cock against his ass. Cas sucks in a sharp, hitching breath.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” Dean murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of Cas’ ear. He rocks his hips forward, grinding his hardness against Cas’ body, then stills, waiting for an answer.

This is a horrible idea and Cas knows it. Walking away from Dean will be that much harder if they do this, if he has memories of Dean’s body to take with him, but he can’t stop himself from twitching his hips back into Dean. His cock thickens at the feel of Dean’s length nestled against his backside and he expels a long, shaky breath. His voice is rough, like torn vellum, when he answers. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Thank god.” Dean’s voice shakes when he breathes the words into Cas’ hair. He pushes his hand lower, shoving the band of Cas’ sweatpants out of the way, and wraps his fingers around Cas’ dick, already half-hard and rapidly filling.

Cas groans low in his throat and pushes forward into Dean’s tight grip, calluses rubbing rough over his sensitive skin and dragging a punched out breath from him. He raises his hips a fraction of an inch and scrabbles with one hand to shove the sweatpants down below where Dean’s hand is slowly, carefully working him over, fingers dipping to tug at the hot skin of his balls, then sliding back up to thumb at the head. Desperate to feel Dean against him, Cas reaches back and pulls at the soft fabric of Dean’s pants, unsuccessfully trying to push them down. After a few aborted tugs, Dean finally gets the idea and releases Cas long enough to shove them down himself.

When Dean rocks forward again, his dick is a hot, hard brand sliding between Cas’ ass cheeks. The head catches against his rim and Cas curses himself for not packing lube and condoms. This is certainly the last thing he expected them to be doing when he was considering what to bring.

Any contemplation of safe sex grinds to a halt when Dean raises his hand to Cas’ mouth and stops, his palm brushing Cas’ bottom lip. It takes Cas a moment to figure out what Dean wants, but then he swirls his tongue around the inside of his mouth and licks a wet stripe up Dean’s palm. When he curls it around Cas’ dick again, the slick glide is even better than before.

“Fuck,” Dean grunts against Cas’ neck, opening his mouth to drag his tongue against the sensitive skin below Cas’ ear. He sets up a rhythm that pushes Cas forward into his fist with each thrust, then rocks Cas back against him as he grinds against Cas’ ass. Sparks dance up Cas’ spine with each drag of Dean’s cock against his hole and he cants his hips as best he can to increase the pressure.

They move together, low grunts and moans underscored by the slick sound of skin against skin. The rain continues to pound on the tent walls, the cadence drowned out by a roar of thunder every few minutes, and the answering lightning makes the inside of Cas’ eyelids glow red. He raises his free hand up to grip the back of Dean’s head and twists toward him so that he can shove their mouths together. Dean pants against his lips for a moment, the rasp of several days of scruff an exquisite pain, before opening his mouth to deepen the kiss into something sloppy and unfocused.

The heat gathers, pooling at the base of his spine as he focuses on the feel of Dean’s hands on him, the way his fingers twist just below the head then dance back down the shaft to firmly circle the base again. As clumsy and artless as it is, Cas teeters on the razor edge of his orgasm much sooner that he expected. The heat inside the sleeping bag leaves them both sweating, the moisture slicking their movements. With each thrust and stroke, Dean drives him closer to the edge and his body feels like a live wire, as he focuses on the scent of Dean’s skin and the husky growl of whispered encouragement between kisses.

“I’m close, Dean, fuck, please, I’m so close,” Cas moans, fingers twisting in Dean’s hair as he drags him in for another filthy kiss. “I’m going to—”

“Do it,” Dean commands gruffly, his hand speeding up on Cas’ dick. “Wanna feel you, Cas. Come on. Let go. I got ya.”

Cas arches against Dean just as he squeezes on the upstroke and bites down the meat of Cas’ shoulder at the same time. Riding that thin line between pleasure and pain, Cas’ climax slams through him, punching the breath out of him and covering Dean’s hand and the inside of the sleeping bag with his release. Dean strokes him through it until he whimpers with the overstimulation and collapses back against Dean’s chest.

Floating in a haze of bliss, he’s only vaguely aware that Dean is still moving against him with increasingly erratic thrusts. With a guttural shout, Dean’s whole body goes tense and Cas feels the warm splash of his release against his sensitized hole. Dean continues to thrust shallowly as his climax spurts against the back of Cas’ thighs. Gradually, he slows to a stop, his breath shallow and ember hot against the back of Cas’ neck.

There’s silence in the tent while they bask in the satisfaction that only good sex brings. The fury of the storm wanes, as if it is mirroring their passion. It isn’t long, though, until the cooling, clammy feel of semen smeared across both his crotch and his ass ruins Cas’ contentment. “Please tell me you can reach something to clean up with,” he mutters.

Dean rolls forward to prop the sleeping bag up with his shoulder while he pulls his sticky hand away. As he shifts to reach for something he presses against Cas’ ass, smearing his release even more, and Cas’ lips twitch in distaste. Thankfully, it doesn’t take Dean long to find what he’s looking for and when he rolls forward again, his hand is clean. He reaches around Cas to pull the zipper down and flips the flap of the sleeping bag back so that he can use what feels like a balled up t-shirt to clean Cas off as best he can. When he’s done with Cas’ front, he pushes the t-shirt between them and wipes away the evidence from Cas’ ass as well.

When Dean throws the shirt toward the wall of the tent and reaches around to zip the sleeping bag back up, there’s a mildly wet spot on the fabric where it touches Cas’ hip. As disgusting as it might be there’s nothing to be done, so Cas just relaxes back against Dean’s chest again, listening to his steady breathing.

His whole body feels languid and loose, suffused with a pleasant afterglow, but the longer he lays awake, the more questions arise. What does this mean? Is it just sex? Will Dean want to see him again? It’s been ages since he’s been with anyone besides Will, so he hasn’t had to worry about the awkward morning after in a long time. Honestly, he knows that he’s hoping this is more than just sex, but the last thing he wants is to make an even bigger fool of himself.

Knowing that sleep will never come if he doesn’t get some answers, Cas tries to turn in Dean’s arms to face him, but Dean’s hand on his hip stops him. “Dean,” he murmurs. “I just—”

“Go to sleep, Cas.” Dean’s voice is hoarse.

“But Dean—”

“Cas,” Dean barks a little more sharply. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

The irritation in Dean’s voice forms icicles in Cas’ chest. Now that it’s over and Dean found his release, he just wants to go to sleep. It was nothing more than that, just a way to bleed off some of the tension that has built up in the last few days. There was never a chance that it meant more than that. Steeling himself against the pain, Cas lets out a soft, shaky breath and closes his eyes. Only a few more hours and he’ll be able to put this whole thing behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

A steady drip of water hitting the side of the tent pulls Cas out of sleep. He’s warm, snugged tight against Dean’s body and one of Dean’s legs is curled through his, effectively pinning him in place. The relaxed intimacy is appealing, but Cas knows that it’s a mirage. The morning after never holds up to the passion of the night before.

Unsure whether it would be more awkward to lay there in Dean’s arms until he wakes up or to wake him trying to slip away, Cas errs on the side of avoidance. He’s not ready to face Dean while dealing with his own confusion, so he carefully tugs the sleeping bag zipper down enough to extricate himself and roll away. Dean grumbles softly, shoving his face into the crook of his shoulder, but he doesn’t wake up as Cas crawls to the door. He drags his boots after him and puts them on without lacing them before stepping out onto the wet grass.

He makes a quick circuit of the campsite, ensuring that nothing was ruined in the storm. The waterproof packs holding their food and supplies are covered in shallow puddles, but the reinforced fabric did its job. There isn’t much food left, but the contents are dry and secure.

Since they need to leave for the meetup spot soon, he doesn’t bother starting a fire. Some fruit and two granola bars each will hold them over until they get back to civilization. Cas sighs and looks around the camp. Civilization, where they can both pretend like this never happened.

So they had sex, so what? It felt good, but it’s not like Cas is naive enough to think that it has to mean something. He’s been fooling around with Will for years and he has never wanted it to mean anything. So why should this be any different? Casual sex is casual. That’s the way it should stay. Cas shakes his head to break the circle of thoughts and walks over to focus on getting the horses their breakfast instead.

The horses whinny when he approaches and although they’re both still wet, they seem unharmed by the storm. He cracks open the barrels that hold their grain and supplies and pulls out the nosebags and a brush. He’s fastening the second nosebag around Jericho’s head when he hears Dean unzip the tent. Unwilling to put too much emphasis on last night, he stops himself from turning to follow Dean with his eyes. Instead, he watches him from his periphery.

At first, there’s nothing in Dean’s manner that gives away how he’s feeling. He picks up the apple and the granola bars Cas left for him on the boulder and takes a bite before looking around. When he sees Cas standing by the picket line, he stares inscrutably for a second before giving a little wave that does nothing to tell Cas how to proceed.

Working together, it takes them less time to break down and pack up camp than it took them to set it up. Cas has to admit that Dean is just as thorough about ensuring they leave no trace as he would be himself. By the time they mount the horses and head out of camp, only the grain barrels show that they were ever there. It feels a little like erasing the past few days.

Cas lets Jericho slow his pace enough to fall behind as they ride, his gaze pinned to the back of Dean’s head. The entire time they were packing up, Dean never gave any indication that he even remembered what happened last night, let alone that he wanted to talk about it. He wasn’t rude or snappish, but the easy companionship of the last two days was gone and Dean had seemed distant and preoccupied. Was he regretting sharing the story about his family, Cas wonders, or what came after? As much as he wants to ask, he doesn't, and the opportunity slips farther away with every mile they ride back to the real world.

Charlie and Sam are already at the meeting spot, joking and laughing together when Dean and Cas arrive. Cas swings down from Jericho’s back and quickly unties his packs. The two bags feel lighter than they should, considering that it feels like Cas is bringing more back with him than he took. He shakes his head at the overly sappy sentiment and heaves the bags into the back of his truck.

As much as he wants to just get in the truck and leave, he lingers, helping them unload and strip the horses then put them in the trailer. He watches Dean as they work, but the other man doesn’t even look Cas’ way, let alone say anything. He does catch Sam studying him pensively, but the younger man looks away before Cas can acknowledge him. Charlie chatters the entire time, as if in an attempt to fill the silence, commenting on how well received their video journals have been. Cas isn’t sure he even wants to watch them, though a part of him is curious about what Dean had to say.

Once everything is loaded, he loiters by his truck hoping that Dean will come over, but he doesn’t. He just raises one hand in a small wave, barely looking Cas’ way, and says, “See ya, Cas.” The truck door slams before Cas can even respond. Given the dismissal, Cas feels even more foolish for hoping it might have been more than just sex to Dean.

The drive home takes longer than it should. Cas stops for a late lunch on the way, savoring a meal that doesn’t taste like smoke, and he’s in no hurry to get back on the road. Given the disgust he had felt when he thought about Dean just a week ago, his melancholy at the apparent loss of their new friendship seems misplaced. He may have learned that he was wrong about Dean, but their slightly inadvisable one-night stand shouldn't be the end of the world. Regardless, when he leaves the diner, he picks up the local entertainment rag just because it has Dean’s picture on the cover.

When he pulls into the drive, Gabe’s Lexus is parked by the side door. He lets himself in through the basement and throws his dirty clothes directly into the washing machine, starting the load before climbing the stairs to the main floor. Katie meets him at the steps with a happy bark, dancing circles around his legs. He feels a smile tug at the corners of his mouth for the first time since yesterday and he drops to his knees to bury his face in her fur.

“I hope you’re not planning on greeting me that way,” Gabe calls from where he’s sprawled on the couch. Cas’ beat up copy of _Stranger in a Strange Land_ lays open on his chest.

“Not that I’m not grateful to you for looking after Katie, but what are you doing here?” Cas asks, straightening up. Katie follows him into the living room and flops at his feet when he sits in the chair by the fireplace. “She just needed someone to check in on her, not to stay the whole week.”

Gabe shrugs and scoots up so that he’s propped against the armrest, sending the book tumbling into his lap. “Hannah’s got a big board review coming up at the library next week and she’s been a little testy. Figured it was better to stay out of her hair, so your place seemed like the best place to crash.”

Given Gabe’s reputation, Cas doesn’t feel bad for giving him a sharp look. “You didn’t bring your hookups to my house—”

“Of course not, of course not,” Gabe retorts quickly, too quickly to be the truth. “That would be rude. What kind of cad do you take me for, Cassie?”

Cas purses his lips. “The kind who would fuck some strange woman on my couch.”

Gabe shrugs, looking quickly away. “Not on your _couch_.”

It takes Cas a second to parse that. “For fuck’s sake, Gabe. You’re a menace. I want my key back and you better have washed my sheets.”

“Of course, I did. I’m not a complete asshole,” Gabe says with an unrepentant grin. “Anywho, how was Brokeback Mountain?”

Cas rolls his eyes and pretends that the dig didn't hit a little too close to home.  “It was fine. The land down there is beautiful.”

“And Winchester? He’s not too hard on the eyes either.”

“He was fine. I may have jumped the gun a little there. He’s not as big an asshole as I was expecting,” he says, although he knows he’ll get shit about this for months. Cas has never been the type to avoid admitting when he’s wrong.

Gabe narrows his eyes. “So he was just a little bit of an asshole?”

Cas sighs, reaching down to pick at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. “He really wasn’t an asshole at all,” he admits. “I mean, yeah, at first, but I think that was just him being defensive because he was expecting me to be a jerk. There’s a lot more to him than his public image shows.”

“So he puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like us mere mortals?” Gabe teases with a grin.

Cas flashes back to Dean pulling his pants on after they went skinny dipping and his face flushes slightly. “He’s just a guy who happens to be an actor, that’s it.”

Gabe leans forward slightly and waggles his eyebrows. “Give me some inside scoop. What’d you two do for five days? Walk hand in hand through the prairie and pick wildflowers?”

“We talked. Explored. That’s pretty much it,” Cas says, wanting this conversation to end before he says something he shouldn’t. He thinks back to Dean’s panicked look after he told Cas his secret. There are so many things he’ll never be able to tell his friends about his trip.

“Come on, man. There’s gotta be more,” Gabe whines.

“If you want details, watch the interview next week.”

Gabe shakes his head. “Cold, man. That’s cold. I thought we were friends.” He pushes himself up from the couch and puts the book back on the bookshelf. “Don’t call me next time you need representation.”

Cas chuckles. “I never need to call you, Gabe. You’re always sitting in the cell right next to me,” he points out dryly.

“Touché,” Gabe replies with a grin. “I’m meeting Luc for drinks down at the Longbranch. You want in?”

Still feeling a little raw, the thought of spending the night around people grates on Cas. “No, thanks, though. It’s been a long week. I think I’m just going to lay around and go to bed early.”

“Okay, your loss,” Gabe calls over his shoulder as he lets himself out.

Even with Katie following him from room to room and through the gardens, it feels weird to be alone. More than once, he finds himself turning to say something to Dean and being shocked that he’s not there. The empty room makes him sadder than it should, especially since he just turned down a chance to be with his friends. He’s been living alone for years and the solitude never bothered him before. He has his friends, Katie, his writing, his students, his causes. He’s never had time to be lonely, but the emptiness is suddenly discomfiting. Is it Dean that he misses or did he just get used to having another person around, someone to share his thoughts with?

Walking into the bedroom with his freshly laundered clothes, Cas sees the paper he picked up at the diner. There’s a small picture of Dean on the front cover, looking incredibly handsome in a well-tailored suit. A beautiful young woman in a sparkly cocktail dress holds onto his arm and Cas recognizes her as his co-star from his last film. He flips open the magazine and reads the short article about their Academy Award nomination last year. The article touts the film that will be opening in a few weeks and ends with a brief mention of Dean filming in South Dakota in the coming months.

He flips back to the front cover and studies Dean’s picture. Even with the grainy print, Dean is undeniably attractive, but there’s something hard about his expression. Although he’s smiling, it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are lined with tension. Remembering the way Dean looked last night at the fire, Cas wonders if he had a migraine. It’s almost as if this elegant celebrity and the man he woke up with this morning are two different people.

At the desk in the living room, he boots up his laptop and pulls up Twitter. There are thousands of notifications. Charlie had tweeted their video blogs each day and it seems like most of the notifications are retweets or responses to those. He scrolls through some of the responses and shudders. A lot of the responses are supportive or statements of the fans’ admiration, but some of them are downright repulsive. Out of curiosity, Cas pulls up the accounts for several other well-known actors and finds similar responses on their accounts. If sexually harassing responses are common for celebrities, it’s no wonder Dean never had a Twitter before Cas crashed into his life.

Shaking his head in disgust, Cas goes back to his own profile and pulls up the video blog website. The site is tastefully done, with pictures of both him and Dean. While Dean’s pictures are screenshots from his movies or publicity stills, the images of Cas were all gleaned from the faculty bio page put together by the college. Cas chuckles at Charlie’s ingenuity.

With only slight trepidation, he scrolls down and clicks on Dean’s first post. At first, Cas does a double take when Dean’s image fills the screen. He looks so different than he did just this morning without the scruff that he’d grown this week. Cas runs one hand over his own jaw, making a mental note to shave.

He presses play and watches Dean’s first entry. He’s obviously still annoyed with Cas at that point, barely looking at the camera and practically twitching with irritation. He looks more relaxed in the preview for his second entry. Cas thinks back and realizes that was the night he saw Dean bathing in the lake. Something had changed while he was gone, but he wasn’t sure what. He presses play and watches while Dean comes into focus on the screen.

“End of day two,” he says, his image framed by his shadow on the orange wall of the tent behind him. “I came out here expecting Cas to be a real asshole, but so far, it hasn’t been too bad. He hasn’t brought up my movies once, so I’m not sure what he’s waiting for. I thought that the whole point of this was so he could lay into me.”

Dean stops and looks at something behind the camera, then flicks his gaze back to the screen. If Dean was expecting Cas to verbally attack him as soon as they were alone together, it explains the uncomfortable silence of the first day and the next morning. Dean was tense, waiting for the barrage to begin.

“I’m not sure why I’m supposed to give a crap what he thinks of me,” Dean continues, “but I guess if I’m gonna convince him that I’m not a douchebag, I gotta actually show him that.” He stops and gives the camera a lopsided grin that transforms him from brooding to rakish. “Lots of people seem to think I’m charming, so it shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

Cas smiles. Though he wouldn’t have said so at the beginning, Dean is definitely charming when he tries. He remembers the trip to the gorge and Dean’s reaction when Cas talked about being estranged from his family. Dean looks a little more relaxed in his recording from that night. The stubble covering his jaw makes him look more like Ty Carter than he did at the beginning of the week, but the lack of tension around his eyes shows that he’s one hundred percent Dean. He replays the part where Dean says that there is hope for them becoming friends three times. There’s a wistfulness in Dean’s voice when he says it that Cas latches on to, even though he knows he shouldn’t read into it.

Clicking through to the next video, Cas waits to hear what Dean had to say after their aborted skinny dipping adventure. He’s disappointed that Dean is a little withdrawn in the video from that night, even more reluctant to look directly into the camera than usual. He mutters through a brief description of their day, even mentioning that they went swimming, though he leaves out the part where they were naked. Finally, just when Cas thinks he’s about to sign off, he looks right into the camera. “I pretty much expected to be defending myself all week, so it kind of surprises me that I actually like the guy. We’re a lot more alike than I could have imagined.”

Cas knows exactly what Dean means. Nothing about this trip went like he expected. Instead of being a pretentious asshole, Dean turned out to be down-to-earth, funny, and genuinely kind. When Dean shared the story of his parent’s death, Cas felt like he finally got to meet the man behind the Ty Carter/Dean Winchester persona. Far from being a Hollywood movie star, Dean is an intensely private person doing his best to protect his family and heal from a pain that few people would understand.

The pointer hovers over Dean’s video from last night, but Cas is apprehensive about hearing what Dean had to say after his breakdown. He’s sure that Dean regrets sharing the story, but he’d rather not hear Dean say it. He clicks the mouse and Dean’s face fills the screen. His eyes are bloodshot and his face is dirty where he scrubbed the tears off his cheeks. “Last night,” he says, and his voice sounds raw and wrung out. “We’ll be headed home tomorrow.”

A loud knock on the front door startles Cas and he jumps, pressing one hand to his racing heart and pausing the video with the other. Katie starts barking but sticks close to his side as he walks to the door and opens it. He’s only a little surprised to see Will on the front porch. Instead of the usual flush of affection he usually feels at the sight of Will, his stomach clenches into knots.

Will smiles, reaching to pull him in for a kiss. Cas is tense in his arms, barely able to make himself kiss back. The memory of Dean’s lips on him, Dean’s hand wrapped around his cock, is too fresh and it makes him nauseous.

“I missed you,” Will says, releasing Cas to push the door closed behind himself. He doesn’t act as if he noticed Cas’ discomfort. “Gabe said you got back this afternoon, but I figured you must have fallen asleep. I’ve been calling you for two hours with no answer, so I thought I’d stop out and welcome you home.”

Cas looks over at where his phone lays on the counter. “I turned it off before I left and I forgot to turn it back on.”

Will shakes his head affectionately. “Just like you. Jesus, Cas. One of these days there’s gonna be a real emergency and no one is going to be able to get ahold of you.”

It’s an old argument. “Sorry,” he says weakly.

Brushing off the apology, Will pulls him over to the couch. Cas lets Will pull him down onto the cushions, but he covers Will’s hand with his own when he reaches for the zipper on Cas’ jeans. “We need to talk,” Cas says as gently as he can.

There’s a flash of something like fear in Will’s eyes, and then he sighs and pulls his hands away. “It’s over,” he says, his voice resigned. It’s as if Will had been expecting this.

Cas sighs. “It was never really started, Will. You’re my best friend, but I don’t feel the same way about us as you do. I thought it didn’t matter, that we could just keep doing this, but it’s not good for either of us. I can’t keep hurting you like this.”

Will doesn’t deny that it’s hurting him, which makes Cas feel even sicker. Looking over at the desk, where the laptop is paused on Dean’s video, Will asks sharply, “Is it because of him?”

Cas shakes his head sadly. “Not really. I’ve felt this way for a while, but I didn’t want to say anything and ruin our friendship. Being out there with Dean made me realize that I want someone to share my life with, not just to hook up with. It would be so much easier if I could love you that way, but it just isn’t in the cards for us. You’re my brother and my best friend, but it’s never going to be more than that.”

Will’s face crumples, then hardens. He shoves himself away and stalks over to the desk, clicking the mouse to play the video. Dean’s voice fills the room. “I have no idea what conclusion Cas has come to, but I’d like to think that at the end of this, I made a friend at least. There’s a lot of things I want that I’ve always told myself I could never have, so it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I could really talk to, that I felt comfortable opening up to. It feels nice.”

Hearing Dean’s words, his admission that he wanted to consider Cas a friend and that he felt comfortable opening up to Cas, almost overshadows Will’s pain. He wants to call Charlie right now, to demand Dean’s phone number so that he can ask the other man exactly what he meant by that. He wants to know whether their misguided night together ruined any chance of that, or whether it even meant enough to Dean to have an impact at all.

Dean’s voice stops when Will pauses the video again. “And you’re telling me you love this guy after a week?” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No,” Cas says, walking over to stand beside him. His eyes are trained on Dean’s face on the screen, but he takes Will’s hand. “That’s ridiculous. We barely know each other. I liked being there with him, though, and I think he’s the kind of guy I could fall in love with if I had half the chance. I didn’t even know that I was looking for something like that until I got out there.” He pulls his eyes from Dean’s face to look into Will’s brown eyes, glimmering with emotion. “I’m sorry, Will. You know I wish it was you. I’d make it you if I could.”

Will’s jaw works and his eyes remain hard for a long time. Finally, he seems to deflate, the anger draining out of him. He lets out a long breath and pulls Cas into a hug, his arms conveying his forgiveness. “I know, Cas. I love you, you know that. I’ve loved you for a long time, probably since that little village in the Kyrgyz Republic. You’re my best friend and my brother too, and I just want you to be happy. I wish that it could be me to give you that, but if it isn’t, I’m going to be okay with it. It’s not worth losing you over.” He looks down at where Dean’s face is framed by the screen. “If this guy is what you want, go after him with the same passion that you go after everything else in your life and there will be no way he can resist you.”

********************

Dean looks out the window for the tenth time in the last hour, but the driveway is still empty. Part of him wishes he’d invited Cole to stay, but seeing Cas again after the way he left things is going to be awkward enough without having Cole witness it. Of course, Cole had gotten the whole story out of Dean within an hour of him getting home, but that was no surprise. He always could read Dean like an open book. It was also no surprise that Cole thought Dean was a dumbass for the way he’d acted. Dean can’t say he disagrees.

He looks out the window again, sure that he hears a car this time. He’s right, but it’s just Sam and Eileen. He meets them at the door, the dogs right on his heels. Eileen moves aside to let Monty into the house, immediately sparking a wrestling match in the foyer behind them. She laughs throatily and hugs him, then steps back to look at him. “You look like you’re going to throw up. Is it that bad?”

With a grimace, Dean turns away to reprimand the dogs, making a show of it to hide his expression. If it’s that obvious that he’s keyed up, he’s never going to get through an entire interview without embarrassing himself. Once he has the dogs corralled in the living room, he turns back to give her a clear view of his mouth. “You know I hate these things,” he says. “And it’s a thousand times worse that they’re coming here. I don’t know why we couldn’t have just gone up to the TV station in Pierre. Save Cas the trip down here.”

“Charlie thought it would be more relatable if it was at the house. It’s not like they’re going to broadcast the location or anything,” Sam responds reasonably. “Dorothy’s been here before and I thought you trusted Cas?”

Dean throws his hands up and paces into the kitchen. “I do. I just, I don’t know, I can’t shake the feeling that this is a bad idea.” When he turns around, Sam is rapidly signing for Eileen. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. He hates when he forgets that Eileen needs to see his mouth.

“It’s okay.” She nods sympathetically and walks over to wrap one arm around his waist. “Tell me what is really going on.”

Dean frowns down at her. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, signing the words at the same time for emphasis.

“Bullshit,” she retorts sharply, giving him the same treatment.

“She’s right, Dean,” Sam adds. “It’s pretty obvious that this is more than just your usual pre-interview jitters. Did something happen with Cas that has you nervous? Do you think he’s going to be difficult during the interview?”

To give himself a chance to ignore the question for a moment, Dean walks over to pull three beers from the fridge. He really does not want to talk about this, but he knows that even if he can throw Sam off the scent, Eileen will figure it out no matter what he says. Turning back around, he twists the caps off one at a time and sets the beers on the table. “Maybe. I don’t know. Not difficult maybe, but we kind of left things in a messed up place.”

Sam raises one eyebrow. “Messed up how?” he asks, then motions to the beer. “Are you sure you should be drinking before an interview?”

“I’m not gonna get wasted from one beer, Sammy. I’m not a lightweight like you.” Making a show of it, Dean lifts the bottle and drains half of it in one long swallow. “And messed up like he might hate my guts again.”

“It didn’t seem that way from the videos,” Eileen points out after taking a drink of her own beer.

“The videos didn’t show all of it. I kinda screwed up.”

Sam scrubs one hand down over his face. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with the guy.”

Dean looks away quickly, but he knows it’s too late.

“Dean, come on, man,” Sam says, exasperated.

“Okay. Yes, okay? We fooled around on the last night. I told him about mom and dad and then we got that crazy storm and his tent was leaking and then he had to sleep in my tent and it just, okay, fine, I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear?” Dean pushes the words out in a rush, then drains the rest of his beer in one swallow. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder before he can go the fridge for another one.

“Wait,” he says, sliding his hand down to grab Dean’s wrist when he tries to pull away. “You told him about mom and dad? Like, the whole story? Everything?”

Dean stops pulling and lets his arm go limp in Sam’s grasp. “Yes, everything. I cried, he cried, it was a whole thing,” he says angrily. “And I really thought we were getting somewhere, like maybe once we got home and put this interview behind us, he might agree to go out with me. Like normal people.”

“That could still happen,” Eileen says, stepping closer to pull Sam’s hand off his wrist. Dean shakes it and slumps against the counter instead of going for another beer.

“I doubt it after I took advantage of him,” Dean says dejectedly. “It was nice, you know? Having someone listen to all that shit and not run screaming. He was just, I don’t know, there, and it felt good, like he really cared about me, even though we were just caught up in this stupid publicity stunt.”

“So how did you take advantage of him? It sounds to me like he was into you,” Sam says, taking a sip of his beer and leaning back against the counter next to him.

“A little, I guess, I mean, I know he was checking me out when we went swimming—”

“You didn’t take him skinny-dipping at the hot spring,” Sam cuts in.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean admits with his first smile all day. The last time he’d been in the pond had been with Cole and Sam. “But nothin’ happened. There was a little bit of flirting, or whatever, but he made sure to tell me that he wasn’t interested in sleeping with a celebrity. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who really sleeps around.”

“As much as you like to pretend you are, you’re not really that kind of guy either,” Eileen points out. “Since Aaron, you’re more likely to be here with Cole than running around.”

Dean shrugs. “After all the bullshit when those pictures were leaked, it just doesn’t seem worth the risk anymore. If pictures can get out, who knows what else they could find. There’s plenty of people in Sioux Falls that knew us long enough to connect the dots. With the way he reacted, I’m just glad I never told Aaron about mom and dad. He woulda sold me out in a heartbeat.”

“So Cas isn’t the kind of guy who sleeps around, but he slept with you anyway, and somehow that means you took advantage of him,” Sam reiterates, dragging the conversation back on topic. He rolls his eyes at his wife, who just gives him an innocent look.

“He felt bad for me, you know? I was pretty messed up after I told him about mom and dad and I didn’t want that to be the reason we got together. I wanted to do it right. Put this whole publicity thing behind us and ask him out without any of that hangin’ over our heads. But he came to my tent because his was leaking and he was right there and I was lonely and I just couldn’t stop myself.” He stops short of giving voice to just how lonely he has felt for years, and how being with Cas made him feel like someone other than his family actually gave a shit about him, not just about Ty Carter.

Sam frowns. “Did he try to stop you?”

“Uh, no. I asked him if he wanted me to stop, but he said he didn’t want me to.”

Sam sighs theatrically. “So how does that mean you took advantage of him? If he didn’t say no, then he probably wanted it the same as you did.”

Dean shoves himself away from the counter and paces around the kitchen restlessly. “Maybe, I guess. It’s not like I assaulted the guy or something.”

“There you go.”

“But,” Dean adds even more morosely, “even if he was okay with the sex, I got kind of freaked out afterward and was a complete asshole to him. I just, it’s been awhile since . . .” He stops, unsure what he’s trying to say.

“Since you slept with someone that matters to you?” Eileen suggests.

Dean looks at her sharply, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess. After everything fell apart with Aaron, I haven’t really made an effort to meet anyone. I mean, I care about Cole, but it’s not like that. We have a good time together, but we both know we’re not in it for the long haul. ”

“And you could imagine yourself being in it for the long haul with Cas?” Sam asks cautiously.

“Maybe. I really thought he was gonna be a total douchebag and the whole week was gonna be a battle, but it was actually really easy to get along with him. The whole thing with my movies and the shit he said turned out to be nothing. He even apologized.” Dean stops and shakes his head. “Not that it matters, ‘cause I completely blew him off the next day. Even if he really was interested, he probably thinks I just wanted to get laid.”

“So talk to him. He’ll be here in a little bit and once the interview is over, you can still talk to him like you planned. Explain, apologize, and ask him out,” Sam says, ever the voice of reason. “What’s the worst than can happen?”

“That’s easy. He could ruin me. My whole career will stop being about my acting and start being about dad. If he drags all this out in the open, you guys could get caught up in it too.”

Eileen puts one slender hand on his cheek and waits until he meets her eyes. “Do you really think he’d do that?”

Dean takes a deep breath and says softly, “No, I really don’t think he would.”

“It will be okay, Dean,” Sam says, putting one hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m proud of you for opening up to someone after all these years. Whatever happens after this, we’ll handle it.”

Instead of another beer, Dean takes a bottle of water from the fridge. He feels a little better than he has all week, though his stomach is still in knots. Whatever happens, they can deal with it. He just has to remember that. They wait in the living room with the dogs, idly flipping channels, until the sound of cars in the driveway sends all three of them careening into the foyer. Sam and Eileen herd them back into the living room while Dean goes to the door.

Stopping with his hand on the handle, Dean freezes up. Cas is on the other side of the door and even if he never wants to see Dean again, there’s still the possibility that he could destroy the sanctuary that Dean has built. As long as he doesn’t open the door, he won’t have to face it.

Sam comes up behind him and puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just breathe, man. It will be okay,” he says, before releasing Dean to step back beside his wife.

Dean opens the door. Charlie and Dorothy, her reporter friend and sometimes girlfriend, stand next to a late-model VW Beetle. Cas’ truck is parked behind them, but he hasn’t gotten out yet. Dean sees him take a deep breath then shake his head before pushing the door open and climbing out of the cab. He’s clean shaven again, the way he’d been when Dean first saw him, but Dean kind of misses the beard he’d been sporting by the end of the week. He remembers the sharp scratch of it against his own face when they kissed. Shoving the thoughts away, Dean pushes the feelings down and steps out onto the porch. “You get lost?” he calls to Charlie snarkily.

Charlie braces one hand against her forehead to shade her eyes and grins. “Bite me, Winchester.”

“Is that any way to talk to a client?” he teases, waiting until she ascends the stairs to pull her into a crushing hug.

She lets out a soft whoof of air, then coughs, “It is when the client is a pain in the ass.”

Dean releases her and turns to Dorothy for a more sedate greeting. He holds his hand out to guide her up the steps with a gallant smile. “It’s nice to see you again, Dorothy.”

The stylish brunette returns his smile with a wink. “You too, Dean. It’s always a pleasure to visit your beautiful home.” Dorothy had interviewed Dean at home twice before, but they’d known each other for years before Charlie had even suggested it.

With no way to put it off any longer, Dean turns to Cas. “Heya, Cas,” he says, smiling shyly. He hopes that no matter how badly he messed up, Cas will at least give him that.

Cas smiles back, a little hesitantly at first, then wider when Dean puts his hand out to greet him. His palm is warm against Dean’s, and when he steps up onto the porch, Dean can smell his cologne. “Your house is absolutely beautiful, Dean. Thank you for inviting me.” He takes in the native stone columns and the reclaimed timber porch with wide eyes.

“Thanks. This isn’t the original house,” he says, knowing that Cas will understand the significance of that. “I tore the original farmhouse down a few years ago and built this one from the materials. It’s a lot more energy efficient than the one from the 1800s.”

Cas bites his lower lip, then nods. “It’s a fitting tribute, Dean.”

Herding everyone into the house, Charlie takes over the media room to set up for the interview. Dorothy has some stock pictures of the inside of the house she’ll use for the webpage, but she stages Dean and Cas together in various rooms to get a few for promotional shots while Charlie is setting up the audiovisual equipment. “This will be going up on the page we set up for your videos, but we’ll also be offering it to some of the online entertainment vlogs,” she explains.

Sitting next to Cas on the couch, Dean tries to keep his mind on the interview. Whatever happens after, he’s got to put in the work first. That, at least, is something he’s familiar with. When Charlie comes in to collect them for the interview, Dean brushes his hand against Cas’ back as they walk down the hall. Cas turns to look at him curiously out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

Charlie records a few test clips and checks the volume of the mics, then gives them the signal to begin. “I’m Dorothy Baum, here with Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak,” Dorothy says, her voice shifting into what Dean always thinks of as the narrator voice. “For the half dozen of you who haven’t been following along, this interview is the culmination of the feud that started a few weeks ago when Cas Novak, a local environmental activist, accused Dean Winchester, star of the popular Ty Carter movies, of being a fraud. Mr. Novak, can you tell us what prompted your comments?”

Cas’ expression is momentarily indignant, then he smiles at Dorothy as if it had never happened. “Call me Cas, please,” he says graciously, widening his smile when Dorothy nods. “I’m not a native of South Dakota, but I’ve made it my home for over a decade. Though there are a lot of wonderful people here, there are also a lot of issues that threaten the land that I love, like poor wildlife management, deforestation, and the oil pipeline that will destroy native habitats and endanger groundwater. I’d heard about the deaths of several buffalo on the set of one of Dean’s movies in Genesee, Colorado, and when I found out that he would be filming here next, I assumed there would issues.”

“Issues that threatened the environment?” Dorothy asks.

“Yes. Since Dean’s movies are Westerns, it has become the norm for them to film in the wilderness in several western states. There hasn’t been enough research done to determine the environmental impact of a large film crew moving into a native area. It seemed reasonable to assume there would be a negative one.”

“How would you respond to these allegations, Dean?”

Dean curls his lips into a placid smile. “The deaths in Genesee were a tragedy. As soon as I found out that the pilot involved had buzzed the herd as a joke, causing the stampede, I went to the executive producer to complain.”

Dorothy leans in a little and nods. “How did he respond?”

“Benny Lafitte is a good guy. He immediately understood my concerns. He met with the pilot’s union and presented the allegations. They investigated and the pilot was sanctioned. He’s been banned from working on any movie set where there are live animals used for the one year.” That’s a highly sanitized version of what actually happened, with a lot less swearing and threatening, but the end result was the same.

Cas shakes his head with Dorothy looks at him questioningly. “I didn’t know that. The fate of the pilot was never mentioned in the news coverage.”

“How about the environmental impact, Dean? How do you answer that complaint?” Dorothy asks, quirking one delicate eyebrow.

Dean looks over at Cas. “I’ll be honest, I never really thought about it before, so I can’t say what the impact has been for the locations where we shot in the past. What I can say is that since meeting Cas, I have approached the company responsible for location management about the concerns. Starting with our next film, which will be shot outside of Aberdeen over the next four months, we’ll be working with the local county extension office and environmental management groups to ensure that we do everything we can to leave the land as pristine as we found it.”

Cas’ eyes widen slightly with each sentence until they’re shining with emotion. “That’s wonderful, Dean,” he says and Dean basks in the praise. Benny had thought he was crazy when he called at the beginning of the week, but by the time he’d called four times to check on the progress, the producer had figured out that he was serious. Working with much of the same crew over the years has allowed Dean to establish relationships that allow him a lot more leeway than most actors get.

“It sounds like Dean has addressed a lot of your concerns,” Dorothy says to Cas, who nods emphatically. “Last week, you were invited to spend a week camping with Dean after your comments went viral, triggering Dean, who has always shunned social media, to set up a Twitter account. You seemed pretty sure that he was a poser. What’s your take now that you’ve been in the wilderness with him?”

Cas looks sheepish when he turns from Dorothy to look at Dean. “Sometimes, it’s easy to look at half a story and form opinions based on false assumptions, especially when a celebrity is involved. We see what the media show us and we assume that we know the whole story. It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong, but that is exactly what happened here. I was laboring under some misconceptions about Dean that led me to think he was something that he isn’t. I can’t take back the hurtful things that I said, but I’m here to tell you that they’re false. Dean shared some beautiful countryside with me and helped me see the world from his perspective. He’s as at home on the prairie as he is on a film set, maybe even more. Even though he doesn’t flaunt it, I saw that Dean is actually very passionate about nature and conservation. He’s a kind, caring man that I hope I’m able to call a friend.”

Regardless of what happened between them at the end, Cas obviously isn’t holding it against him. Dean is touched by Cas’ words, and even though he’d said them to him before, saying them in front of the world means a lot. Especially the fact that Cas is still willing to say that he wants to be friends. That is more than Dean let himself hope for.

Dorothy turns to him with a smile. “And what about you, Dean? Has your opinion of Cas changed?”

Dean turns to Cas and grins. “Absolutely. At the beginning, all I knew about him what that he was some kind of environmentalist wacko who goes around chaining himself to trees and construction equipment, and that all of a sudden he thought I was the antichrist. I kind of thought he was an asshole.” He raises one eyebrow and bites the inside of his cheek at Cas’ answering smile. “But it turned out that he wasn’t really an asshole. He’s just passionate about what he believes in and sometimes that passion runs away with him. I don’t hold it against him because I know that he would never make that mistake again.”

Dorothy nods. “So would you say you got out of the trip what you were expecting?”

Dean and Cas look at each other and shake their heads. “Absolutely not,” they say in tandem. They both laugh and Dean explains, “It definitely didn’t go like I was expecting. I thought I’d spend the week defending myself and my movies, but instead, I spent it making a friend.”

Dorothy turns to Cas and he nods. “That about sums it up. I’m just grateful that Dean decided to give me a second chance to make a better impression.”

Charlie makes the hand signal to indicate that their part is done and they sit quietly while Dorothy plugs the movie that is opening in a few weeks. When Charlie finally switches the camera off, Dean relaxes against the back of the couch, relieved.

“Great job, guys,” Charlie exclaims, walking over to give Dean a small hug. She turns to Cas, hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and hugs him too. Dean can’t stop grinning.

Sam clears his throat from where he and Eileen were watching from the doorway and makes pointed eye contact with Dean. “I was wondering if I could talk to you and Dorothy about something,” Sam says to Charlie. He doesn’t even try to be subtle.

Charlie looks at Sam for a moment, then back at Dean and Cas, suddenly catching on. “Oh, yeah, yes, of course. We’re going, just me and Dorothy, with Sam and Eileen to discuss some important business. You and Cas just hang out here and talk about, uh, stuff. Friend stuff. Okay then, bye.” Dorothy rolls her eyes fondly but doesn’t comment as she follows them out of the room.

They close the door behind them, effectively giving Dean and Cas privacy. Cas turns back from watching them go with a chuckle. “Charlie is an interesting woman,” he says amicably.

Dean smiles. “That she is.”

They lapse into a silence that stretches out for a few awkward seconds. There are a dozen things Dean wants to ask, but he’s not sure how to start. Finally, he decides to go with a basic cop-out. “So, uh, how have you been since we’ve been back?” Everything else he wants to say—Did you miss me like I miss you? Are you disappointed in the way we left things? Are you interested in having a do-over?—is packed into that simple question.

Cas looks at him for a second, eyes searching his face as if he’s trying to unpack everything that Dean implied in that question. For a moment, he’s sure that Cas is going to give him a generic brush-off, but when he answers, it’s not what Dean expects. “Horrible,” Cas says, meeting Dean’s gaze and holding it.

Dean sucks in a shocked breath. “Really?”

With a barely perceptible nod, Cas replies, “My bed is too soft and I’m tired of my own cooking and . . .” he trails off, then admits softly, “and I miss you.”

Dean reaches out and snatches Cas’ hands up in his. “Yeah, I mean, yes to all those things. I miss you too. I’m sorry I was such an asshole to you after, well, after that night,” Dean says, praying that Cas understands what he’s talking about.

“I’m not going to lie, Dean. I was hurt. I don’t understand why you acted like that. After you told me about your parents, I really felt like we understood each other. I even get why you pushed me away right after you told me; it’s humiliating to open up to someone like that. I figured I would just give you some space and we’d regroup in the morning.” He stops and looks down at their joined hands. “I don’t regret having sex with you, Dean, but I do wish I understood why you pushed me away like that. Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Dean barks quickly. “No, of course not, I was just, Jesus, Cas. I was really fucked up that night, emotionally. I haven’t told that story to anyone in twenty years and it was really terrifying to just hand it to you, practically a stranger, knowing that you could tear me apart with it.” He stops and swallows hard. He’s never been good at talking about his feelings, and the words want to stick in his throat. Instead of letting them, he makes himself look at Cas and continue. “It wanted so bad to be with you that night, to just let you comfort me, but you made it pretty clear that you didn’t go on that trip to sleep with a celebrity and I didn’t want to take advantage of your sympathy. When you came into my tent like that, into my sleeping bag, while I was still so raw inside, having you that close was more than I could resist. I just didn’t want to feel empty anymore. I pushed you away because I was embarrassed that I took advantage of your kindness, that I used you. I didn’t deserve you.”

Cas holds his gaze for a long time, so long that Dean starts to get nervous that Cas is trying to figure out a polite way to tell him to go to hell. After almost a minute, Cas clears his throat and says, “I said I didn’t go on that trip with the intent to sleep with a celebrity, Dean. I never said that I didn’t want to. You didn’t take advantage of me. I was perfectly capable of telling you to stop if that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be with you too. You don’t have the monopoly on being tired of feeling empty.”

Dean takes a moment to process Cas’ words. “It’s crazy because we’ve only known each other for a week, but I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know if we can make this work, but I’d really like to give it a try.”

“Do you mean that, Dean?”

Dean swallows hard and nods. “I know I’m just a good-for-nothing actor, Cas, but it would be really awesome if you would go out on a date with me. A real date, where I pick you up at your house and take you to a nice restaurant and we can get to know each other. I promise, no camping, no fishing, and no skinny dipping.”

Cas doesn’t even stop to think about it. He throws himself into Dean’s arms and launches into a kiss that is sweet bordering on dirty. Dean opens his mouth when Cas nibbles on his lower lip, then groans when Cas sucks on his tongue for a moment. After only a few seconds, his head is reeling and they’re both breathing hard when they pull apart. Cas grins cheekily and leans in to whisper against Dean’s neck. “Well, maybe skinny dipping?”

Dean laughs, turning his head to drop another light kiss on the corner of Cas’ mouth. “Definitely skinny dipping.”


End file.
